


Kingdom Come

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Canon Typical Violence, Clint Needs a Hug, Existential Crisis, F/M, Felching, Fix-It, LMD, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Pegging, Phil Needs a Hug, Post Episode S01E11 The Magical Place, Post Hawkeye 10, Strap-Ons, Suicidal Thoughts, but it's temporary, child endangerment, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 85,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't let go of his guilt, Phil knows something isn't right about his resurrection, and everybody knows Nick Fury lies. </p><p>There's an epic love story in there somewhere, if only Clint and Phil could look up from their wallowing and see what they have right in front of their eyes. </p><p>Hawkguy-616-MCU mash up. Beware the continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the mash up of all mash ups. This is the queen, the all-mother, the ultimate-you get the point. I went a bit overboard, so if canon starts to mesh a bit I am so sorry. There's a better explanation of what that exactly means in the ends notes. In the meantime, if you've watched the Avengers and up to Episode 11 of MAoS, and read up to Hawkeye 10, you're good to go. But it's perfectly readable even if you have no comic book knowledge. Just know that Clint lives in Bed Stuy when he isn't avenging, usually with his dog. 
> 
> This fic is already complete, so I'll be posting it as it gets betaed. I have never written anything so big so please please bear with me. I would really appreciate constructive criticism. 
> 
> Lots and lots of thanks to the amazing Max72 who helped me through the writing part of the fic and encouraged me, and to my glorious beta ereshai for making this a legible read. I don't know what I would do without either of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Max72 for the lovely banner, you're amazing!

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=5b1vk3)   


 

Okay, this really isn’t as bad as it looks. In all honesty, this could be a lot worse. Clint’s drunk half a bottle of bourbon and thrown up twice. But then, Kate left (like they all do) and took Lucky with her, and he’s just discovered a piece of classified information that he is steadfastly not thinking about, no sir. It could be so much worse. He could have thrown up on the couch instead of the coffee table, for example. He’s settled on the couch now, not because he’s too dizzy to get up the stairs to his bedroom, but because the couch is perfectly damn comfortable no matter what Tony says. It still smells like Natasha who stayed over the night before she left on her milk- run mission.

Natasha.

He misses Natasha like a lost limb. He needs Natasha to hold him and tell him things are going to be ok. Except she isn’t here right now. And he kind of wants to call Bobbi because Bobbi was his wife for a while, and Bobbi understood a little bit, but that’s a bad idea and that’s coming from crowned king of bad ideas. Not to mention, it’s also a pretty shitty move and he’s an asshole but he’s not evil. He wants to call Tony, but Tony would just come over and get drunk. Or yell. Tony likes to yell, it’s a thing. Clint’s gotten used to it over the years. No, wait, wait, wait. Clint has to backtrack. He was right the first time, it’s Natasha he really wants right now because she never would have let him drink this much.

His head is pounding. Or maybe it’s the door. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He wants a drink. Except when he tries to sit up, he realizes that he’s spilled the rest of the bottle onto his chest. There’s got to be some vodka somewhere; his best friend is Russian, he’s not allowed to not have vodka. He could get up and search for it, but the pounding is getting louder and his brain is going to explode. And man, talk about an embarrassing way to die, Clint can see his gravestone already. _Avenger Hawkeye: died after his ex-handler came back from the dead and made his brain explode._

There’s a click and the sound of creaky hinges turning. By the time Clint realizes that the pounding was indeed his door and that someone has actually broken in, he has an eyeful of the very much alive Phil Coulson. The same Phil Coulson who he’d seen when he’d landed at the Hub eight hours too early, right before the Bus was supposed to leave. The very same Phil Coulson that Clint had killed two and something years ago.

Which is why Clint isn’t angry at Phil. It wouldn’t make sense to tell your supposed murderer that their attempt had failed, after all. And- oh God, there’s the guilt. Coulson is sitting beside him on the couch now, impeccable suit now obviously getting soaked in vomit and piss. Hey, he said he didn’t puke on the _couch_. Clint makes to push him away because he knows more than anyone how Coulson feels about those Armani suits, but by the time his hands come up, Coulson has him by the armpits, lifting him off as he stood. Damn it. If only his mouth would fucking cooperate for a change.

Clint wants to apologize, wants to tell Phil that he’s sorry. That he’ll be sorry until the end of days. Clint wants to push Phil away, tell him to run away before he gets hurts again but his body’s decided to be filthy traitor. Clint wants Phil to beat the hell out of him until he can’t remember who he is, and what he did.

Instead, he lets Phil lead him up the stairs and into the bathroom and push him gently under the shower, pulling off his clothes before turning on the faucet. Clint can barely stand, and keeps leaning on Phil until Phil lowers him onto the floor. He thinks he can hear Phil apologizing, which makes no fucking sense, because between the two of them, Clint has more to say sorry for, and it’s been two years and he’ll say sorry every day of his life. Clint doesn’t know why his body wouldn’t cooperate but he can’t seem to do anything but let Phil wash him. He fluctuates between staring at Phil and shutting his eyes every few minutes.

The next time Clint opens his eyes, Phil is gone. Clint wants to scream; wants to beg and shout until he comes back because he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it when he told Phil to leave because Clint won’t hurt him again. Clint can do better, he’ll never let Loki take him, never lose and never ever kill Phil if he stays, oh God please don’t leave me alone, please don’t leave me alone- except his voice won’t work. But then Phil, beautiful, _alive_ ; Phil, comes back with his bathrobe and Clint wants to cry in relief. (It may be possible that his thoughts are being projected out loud.)

Stupid. Clint’s starting to forget things. As if Phil ever listened when Clint pushed him away. As if that was enough to keep Phil from taking care of him. God. How could he have forgotten that? It’s only been two years and he was losing details, what was wrong with him? It’s not like there are all that many people who care about him like Phil did-fuck- does. He shouldn’t forget things. It’s the whole reason he hasn’t deleted that voicemail after all this time. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if he ever forgets Phil’s voice.

Phil crowds in close and lifts him up from under his armpits again, groaning. Clint wants to put a bullet in his own skull for making Phil hurt again. Is this all he’s capable of? He tries to push himself up off of the floor, and succeeds by bracing against the wall. He lets Phil wrap the robe around him, arms grazing his shoulder. Clint should push Phil away, should tell him to run away, but it feels like his mouth’s been glued shut. He wants to push Phil against the bathroom wall and claim him but Phil isn’t his. He never was.

He’s thankful the bed is close, because they only manage to make it the few steps there when Phil loses his grip and Clint goes tumbling onto the bed. Clint is still in his bathrobe, and Phil is rooting through his drawers for clean clothes. He’s just going to close his eyes, just for a second. A power nap. All he can think is, please don’t go, please, please don’t leave me again, please, Coulson, don’t go. He can get up and apologize afterwards, when his mouth and tongue decide to work with him for a change.

***

Clint wakes up with a massive migraine, and no memory of what happened last night. He remembers throwing up, he remembers getting drunk, but what for, he doesn’t know. He’s in his bed, which is slightly damp, wearing boxers and he has his blanket draped over him. He smells clean, which is a surprise. He turns on his side in bed, and finds a couple of pills and a glass of water and now he’s officially confused because Katie-Kate isn’t even in the city and Natasha isn’t that nice. Bobbi maybe? Nah, it’s too quiet. He’d think it’s Steve but then Steve has a job running the world’s first superhero squad so it’s definitely not him. Clint examines the pills, determines that they’re just aspirin and downs them, drinking the entire glass of water in one go.

He starts towards the stairwell, only to find a jacket draped over the railing, next to his bathroom. Jasper, then. Grabbing the suit jacket, Clint takes the stairs two at a time, yelling, “Jasper, you mother fucking- ”  
Oh God. That’s not Jasper slumped on his breakfast bar, dressed in slacks and a shirt that has its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’s most certainly not Jasper turning his head and standing up lightning fast.

Right. The mission. The Hub. Melinda and Ward and those science kids and some newbie walking out of that ancient bus. And Phil. Oh God.

Clint needs a drink. Except, judging by the state of the bottle of whiskey in his recycling bin, there’s no alcohol left in his apartment except for the vodka, and he doesn’t actually know where Natasha hides that shit. Phil is talking to him in a quiet voice but he has no idea what Phil is saying. He can’t bear to look at him, so Clint turns on the coffee machine. He should find a mug, because Phil isn’t going to drink coffee out of the pot. He begins opening up cupboards and looking for one fucking mug (where the hell is all his shit?) when hands grab him by the shoulders and turn him around.

“Clint, please, say something.”

He can’t make himself look at Phil in the eyes, so he stares at his chest instead, which is so much worse and his vision almost goes blue so he staggers and finally meets Phil’s eyes. “What exactly do you want to hear from me, sir?” An apology probably. He wants to say sorry, but he’s afraid Phil won’t accept it. What then? Phil sighs. Clint pushes Phil away gently by the shoulder, finally finds a mug and pours the filtered coffee into it. He adds a dollop of milk and two teaspoons of sugar without thinking, and hands it over to Phil. He grabs the pot that is now half full with coffee, turns off the machine and walks towards the table, sitting down on the side opposite of where Phil was sitting. Phil joins him after a moment.

Clint takes a long draw from the pot, scalding his tongue as usual. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation or what Phil is expecting from him.

“Some anger wouldn’t have been surprising, you know. I was ready for a punch or two, actually,” Phil starts and Clint can’t help but let out an empty laugh.

Clint decides he’s had enough of staring at the coffee pot and looks up evenly at Phil, “And what? Complete the failed attempt at murder?”

Big mistake. Phil looks like Clint really did just punch him. “What? What the hell are you talking about, Barton?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’m confused as fuck as to why you think I’d be mad.”

“For... for lying to you.” Oh. That age- old promise. He’d promised Clint never to lie to him. There is this hysterical feeling in his stomach, Clint wants to throw up again, but there isn’t anything left in his stomach, food or bile. Phil thought Clint was going to be angry for lying to him about being alive? That didn’t even make any sense. That promise had been made what feels like eons ago, long before Clint had betrayed him.

“I think me becoming compromised more or less means that you’re off the hook, sir.” Phil looks like he’s about to start arguing with him, so Clint tries to explain, “Let’s be honest. I mean, I wouldn’t want my murderer to know he hadn’t succeeded in killing me, you know. I totally get why you stayed away.”

Clint isn’t expecting the hand that grasps his wrist on the table. “Clint, for the love of God, you did not murder me. Stop blaming yourself for something Loki did two years ago.”

He doesn’t believe it. But he doesn’t argue. It’s an argument he has been having with Natasha for a long time now, especially around Phil birthday, and one sentence from Phil isn’t going to change anything. No point in arguing. Clint knows Phil well enough to know Clint’s not going to win this by arguing.

“Clint, please. I know you have no reason to trust me.” Clint wants to interrupt, wants to ask Phil if he hasn’t mixed things up, if he hadn’t meant that Phil has no right to trust him, but Phil continues, “Listen to me. This is not something I would lie to you about. You are not to blame. It’s been two years. It’s time to let go. I don’t blame you, I never would.” Clint can barely look at Phil’s face, that’s how upset Phil looks. The hand on his wrist is shaking. That’s when it hits him. Something isn’t right. His (no, not his, never his) Phil was never this shaken (discounting Budapest); Agent Coulson wouldn’t react like this.

Something isn’t right.

_Clint has always trusted his physical senses, even when he couldn’t trust his mind, and he can feel it, deep in his bones now that the haze of the hangover starts to clear; something is wrong._

Phil is still speaking, but now Clint hears that the calm he usually keeps, even in the face of imminent danger, is missing, “Loki took control of you. Please believe me, in no way are you responsible, do you hear me? No one blames you but yourse-”

“Coulson.” Clint’s voice is all wrong, rough and harsh and creaky, but it’s loud enough to stop Phil’s tirade. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

Phil pauses for a second, but there’s that look on his face that means Phil is about to be one stubborn son of a bitch. The hand on his wrist is tight enough to leave bruises. “No. We are not talking about me until you understand that I don’t blame you, and that you have every right to be angry. Clint, you have every right. I know you can’t change your mind about something like this in one second but please. For fuck’s sake, promise me you’ll think about it.”

Clint hears him, but his focus has completely shifted. Something isn’t right. Clint won’t lie to Phil, doesn’t want to make a promise that he can’t possibly keep, but this is more important. Phil looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t sat down in days. He needs to help Phil, needs to make things right, so he says, “Ok, Phil, I’ll think about it. I swear, I’ll think about it.” And he does, for a second. Done. He’s thought about it. Moving on to more important things, he sets the coffee pot on the table and tries to pry off the fingers locked on other hand. When he realizes he can’t do it without breaking a couple of Phil’s fingers, he lets the older man hold on. “What’s going on?”

Phil doesn’t look like he’s ready to let go of the conversation completely, but seems placated enough. The older man sighs. “Clint, I can’t walk in, shake your world and then bring you my problems, that’s not how it works.”

"Oh please, sir.” Clint tries to go for a smirk. This conversation is getting way too maudlin on him. “Shake my world? I think I would have remembered if you did that last night.”

Phil doesn’t even blink. “I think your couch and coffee table may disagree. I’m rather surprised you didn’t get alcohol poisoning, to be honest.”

Clint has missed this banter so much his chest aches. “Come on, like a bit of whiskey would do that to me.”

“You and I have very different definitions of what constitutes a little bit of whiskey.” Phil nods his head at the empty bottle. Maybe he has a point.

But banter aside, Clint never misses a mark, and he isn’t going to let anyone distract him. “Phil, stop fucking around. Talk to me.” Clint knows he has no right to ask but he will do anything possible to help Phil. Clint owes him the world. He knows Phil died. He watched the video. He had caused that. No matter what Fury did to bring him back, the unchanging fact was the Phil Coulson had died because of one Clint Barton. He couldn’t change that, but since Phil looks like he’s clearly in need of some sort of help, Clint will give him everything. Even if he has no place in Phil’s life anymore, something the senior agent seems not to completely understand; he can’t not ask, not if there is any way that he can help.

_You’re so wrapped up in hating yourself that any time anybody starts to care about you, or god forbid you start to care about them – you push them away._ He hadn’t said anything to defend himself to Jessica because he knew it was the truth. He knows he did this before with Phil and Natasha, before he even knew Bobbi or Jessica or any of the others. He can’t help it, he’s an asshole who hurts the people he cares about. With Phil, he’s done his worst. All he can do now is try to make up for it. And he can’t bear the idea that Phil might need his help and not come to him.

So when Phil stays silent for a moment too long, Clint says, “Coulson, talk to me.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

Clint does. There’s no other option.

“How about you start from the 4th-”, his voice cracks again, “the 4th of May, 2012?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, quick notes on the mash up part of the fic.
> 
> First of all, this fic starts of in February 2015, 2.5 years after the Chitauri attack. Let's just pretend MAoS started happening September 2014, thank you. I just think that it would be impossible for a large amount of what happens in the comics to happen within the time span otherwise. 
> 
> In terms of Hawkeye the comic, I'm ignoring the awful murder that Lucky discovered, but otherwise keeping everything. As for the MCU, the current Avengers line up holds- the 24 Avengers that Steve and Tony put together in vol.5. However, in my mash up, not all of them are full time Avengers, and not all of them live at the Tower all the time. Events of Infinity haven't happened, but New Avengers have. It's not important to the story, it's just my headcanon here, because I'm only really using Bobbi, Jess and Logan. I'm also using the X-men and the Inhumans, but the X-men are not yet known to the world, think EARLY X-men, and same with the Inhumans. If I'm not clear on any explanations on the mash up, please please let me know. Thank you.
> 
> And Cap 2 didn't happen because I started writing this in February and finished before the movie came out. Also, let's all believe in Sitwell.
> 
> Anyways, I genuinely hope you liked it:)
> 
> I'm soniclipstick on tumblr if you want to come and hang out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil was expecting a lot of things, starting with a punch for example. He's disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my amazing beta ereshai for correcting the absolutely ridiculous amount of mistakes I always end up having, you are amazing! I did make soem changes after the edit, so any mistakes are mine alone. 
> 
> This chapter is NSFW.

If ever there were a terrible human being, it would be Phil. Okay, the lying was bad to begin with, but this is even worse. He’s struggling to put clothes on Clint, who’s still damp from the shower, and an overwhelming sense of want fills him. He’s being presented a bottle of cold water after endless days of thirst in the scorching desert, and he knows he should drink it in slowly, but he can’t help it. He can feel the flex of those muscles under the tanned skin as Phil tries to hoist the younger man onto the bed. Clint has practically non-existent chest hair, though further down there is a spattering of light blonde pubic hair, most of it concentrated around his cock. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Clint naked, but those were missions, and it’s been years. This is Clint in his bed, drunk and clinging and it’s hard to look away. Phil almost thinks he’s going to disappear on him if he does.

The thing is, Phil hasn’t seen Clint in two years, and now that he’s right in front of him he can’t not look. The dam in which he’s locked every hidden thought and fantasy away has finally burst. Once he finally manages to get the boxers on Clint, he’s so painfully hard he knows he’s going to rut up against Clint if he doesn’t leave right this instant. This isn’t how Phil had pictured being in bed with Clint, though. He wants Clint awake and willing, an enthusiastic participant. Not this drunk mess that has what can only be called minimal motor function. But then, dreams are for children, and Phil knows that is a side of Clint that Phil is never going to experience.

He haphazardly throws the blanket over Clint, tears his jacket off and lays it over the stairwell and heads back into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he leans against it and takes a deep breath, trying to will the erection to go away.

Bad idea. All of a sudden his senses are overwhelmed by the smell he identifies as Clint Barton, the shampoo brand he’s been using forever, the half-finished bottle of opened shaving lotion, and Phil is _gone_. He hastily unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his trousers, unzipping before roughly pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock bounces up quickly against his stomach, brick hard and pulsing with need. He’s never had the most demanding of sex drives in the first place, plus he hasn’t felt aroused since the attack so it’s a double whammy on the senses. Phil feels like a terrible person.

It’s fast and it’s filthy. Phil knows how to get himself off in the quickest way possible because if he doesn’t, if he ends up taking his time, he’ll remember why exactly the man he’s picturing on his knees in front of Phil is in his current predicament, just a few feet away from him. So Phil hurries up, rubbing his balls with one hand while pumping furiously with the other, biting his lip so hard that he’s left with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

A groan escapes him anyway and Phil desperately hopes that Clint is too drunk to realize that his depraved ex-handler is about to come to the thought of Clint’s candy pink lips around his cock. And _oh fuck_ , those lips, and that’s what sends him flying over the edge. He turns and spurts come into the bathtub.

He leans back up against the door, suddenly unsteady on his feet and breathes in and out, the hand on his balls still lazily rubbing in circles. When the haze of the orgasmic high clears, he washes the come down the drains, wipes himself off with some toilet paper and washes his hands. He then makes sure his clothes are back in order and steps back out of the bathroom, freezing when he sees Clint again.

The marksman has turned and is lying on his stomach, arms wrapped around his pillow. That initial want remains ever present, but stays silent as his brain endeavours to remind him again that this is Clint. This is the man he’s loved for far too long and hasn’t seen in person since Loki had snatched him away.

It hurts.

Phil forces himself down the stairs He starts cleaning up the alcohol-fueled disarray that is Clint’s living room to take his mind off of the thoughts rushing through his head, but it doesn’t work.

Phil had always considered them friends, and he didn’t have a lot of those in the first place. Jasper, Nick, Melinda, Natasha and Clint. But after Loki, the list had dwindled down to just the former three, not out of choice but out of necessity for the greater good. And while they all knew the importance of subtlety and global security, Phil thinks he himself would not have been able to forgive them if they had done the same thing to him. Maybe Nick. Oh, _definitely_ Nick. But not the others. No matter how much of a company man they all think him to be, he couldn’t have forgiven that for a long while. Which is why, as he’d driven over to Bed Stuy, Phil had been steeling himself for anger, and at least a few punches to be thrown in his direction. Clint had never been one for subtlety, after all.

But the look in Clint’s eyes had been so clear Phil would have been blind to miss it. Guilt. _But how could Clint blame himself for anything that happened during the Chitauri attack?_ Phil thinks to himself as he opens up the windows to let in some fresh air. The couch smells like alcohol, but at least the smell of urine is gone, and the coffee table is finally dry though the stench of vomit lingers. He breathes in the icy fresh air of early February and that’s when his anger surfaces.

When Nick had told him that he needed to stay dead and ordered him to not tell the Avengers, he had gone along with it because he trusted the system. Phil has spent a not insignificant part of his life within one system or the other, and he understands the need for discretion. He’s an Agent of SHIELD after all. As a friend, he had only asked one thing of Nick: to keep an eye on Clint and Natasha. Clearly, that promise had never been upheld.

Phil walks back to the kitchen and washes his hands before grabbing his phone and punching in Nick’s personal cell phone number.

“Cheese, you said you’d deal with Barton less than eight hours ago. You better have a damn good reason for calling me at four motherfucking a.m.”

“All I asked, in return for giving up my entire life, was that you keep an eye on Clint and Natasha.”

“Fuck you, Phil. I babysit those two more than I ever do any of my own kids. Don’t give me that bullshit, you knew there was a possibility that this would happen. I told you what it would cost you when I asked you. You said yes, Cheese. That’s on you.”

“Then explain why Clint spent the last few hours before I found him drunk off his ass on an entire bottle of whiskey? And a logical explanation to why he wasn’t even slightly angry with me? Because that is not what I call a healthy, normal reaction.”

“Well, fuck.” And Phil knows Nick, so he gets that he is genuinely surprised by this turn of events.

“I want tomorrow and the day after off for my team and myself, at least. Then I want you to send me all of his psych files from after the attack.” Phil should have looked at them earlier, but he had been trying to make a clean break with Clint and hadn’t been able to bring himself to requisition those files. Another mistake. Phil wonders how many that makes.

“Yeah, all right.”

“He wasn’t angry, Nick. Two years of me lying to him about being alive, and he wasn’t even angry. Do you see the problem here?” Phil can’t stop pacing in the kitchen; he can’t make himself stay still. Then again, what exactly is a normal reaction to your handler coming back from the dead? Clint isn’t exactly the most well-adjusted person on the planet either.

“Yeah, I get it. But I can’t exactly put him back on mandatory psych-”

“No. He’s obviously got them wrapped around his little finger, they have no idea. I’m going to read his psych files, and then I’ll decide what needs to be done.”

“No, you can’t. You can have the files, but you don’t decide what happens. He’s not an agent anymore, he’s a consultant. I can’t deal with this shit Phil. I need to be up in an hour and do a million things because I have a day job in case you forgot, so you go and do whatever the hell you think is right. We’ll talk Avengers Initiative tomorrow, _after_ I go back to sleep. And stay the hell away from Avengers Tower before we talk, I ain’t got time for Stark and his temper tantrums. Actually no, I ain’t got the time to deal with any of this shit. Call Sitwell.” The phone clicks and Phil is left with a dial tone.

He settles into the kitchen stool. _Fuck it_ , he decides, and calls Jasper. The raving, he’s more or less expecting.

“Phil, are you fucking kidding me? I have to babysit superheroes because you’re playing dead, and you can’t be decent enough to let me get my sleep? I fought giant wasps yesterday you know? GIANT FUCKING WASPS. Which, in case you don’t remember, I am allergic to. And I didn’t even have my whole team. Hawkeye isn’t due back from a mission until tomorrow, wait no, TODAY, and-”

“He came back early,” Phil manages to sneak in a word in between Jasper’s rant.

“What do you mean he came back early? No one reports this shit to me. Why the fuck are you even keeping tabs on him? I thought we decided you weren’t going to do that until you got over this high school crush of yours, because seriously, I have to deal with domestic disputes at Avengers Tower all fucking day long. Wait a second. Phil. _Phil._ Tell me he didn’t somehow see you when he came back early.”

“He didn’t somehow see me when he came back early.”

“Oh thank fucking- hey son of a bitch. It’s almost 5 in the fucking morning, don’t pull that shit with me, it’s not even funny.” Then Jasper stops his tirade and takes a deep breath. “Fuck. Is he ok? Did you send a security detail for him? Where is he? Not at the Tower since Stark is throwing a hissy fit right now... Wait, where are you?”

“We’re both at his apartment. My team had to stop by the Hub to debrief after the Academy.”

“Yeah, I heard about the kid who died. That’s tough shit.”

Phil doesn’t want to think about Seth or Donny right now. All he can see is the grief on Donny’s face. “Yeah well, Clint had come in on the Quinjet earlier than expected, or we would never have gotten permission to land in the first place, and he saw us leaving the Bus. He bolted after that, but I had to debrief with the Director so we sent security to keep an eye on him. I would have called earlier but it was clear he wasn’t going to Avengers Tower tonight so I came over as soon as I could.”

“How many times did he clock you then?” There is a wry smile behind that tone that Phil can clearly picture in his head. If only he had.

“Zero. That’s the thing Jasper, he wasn’t mad. He was near alcohol poisoning, but he wasn’t even pissed, just mumbled a few things,” _Don’t leave me please don’t leave me..._ “I don’t... I thought psych had cleared him, that he was doing ok-”

“Phil, you were family to him, of course he’s taking it hard. I mean, I know he hasn’t completely moved on with his life since the Chitauri clusterfuck, but being on the team did him more good than harm, so I let him stay,” Jasper pauses. “You always did know him better than I did.”

Maybe not. “I didn’t think they’d care or remember after two years, that’s all.” He had always assumed that he’d felt a lot more deeply for Clint than Clint ever had for him. He still isn’t sure he was wrong; guilt can do weird things to a person, even misplaced guilt.

“Oh fuck you, Phil. Clint loved you.” Phil chokes on air and almost hangs up the phone, but Jasper continues, “I don’t know if he was in love with you, but I know he loved you. Loves you. Sorry. Don’t underestimate people like that. It’s not fair to Clint, or Natasha, who loves you, despite whatever she says about love. You were family. And for the record, they weren’t the only ones told you were killed on the Helicarrier that day.” Jasper’s tone is bitter by the end of the diatribe and Phil remembers that Jasper had only been told after his recovery, which had gone on for the first year.

Phil pauses for a long moment, realizes he has no acceptable reply for Jasper and decides to change the subject. “The Avengers are going to need to be told. It can’t really be hidden, and I wouldn’t ask Clint to keep secrets from his team.”

“Yeah, I just got an e-mail from Fury about this whole fucking situation. What, did you call him at this ungodly hour too? I’ll set up a meeting or something.”

“Thanks, Jasper.”

“You owe me a drink, and four inches of paperwork. Now, barring global emergencies, I’m all caught up on paperwork and would like to sleep until at least 9 am today. Good bye, Phil. Try to get some sleep.”

Phil puts down the phone, then gets up to close the windows, after which he sits back down on the stool again because the couch is wet and he doesn’t really know what else to do here.

The idea of going home flashes in his mind but he can’t leave Clint, not like this. No matter how much it hurts him, he can’t. All he can hear, over and over, is the one clear thing Clint had said. _Please don’t leave me, please don’t ever go._ How can Phil ever say no to him?

But Phil isn’t completely sure that Nick is telling him everything about his own recovery, and he’s hit with a sudden blast of terror at the idea that by staying, he could hurt Clint again. He can’t get close. He should leave before he dies on Clint for real, or worse. But he just can’t.

This is his fault and he’s going to take responsibility. Afterwards, if it’s truly better for Clint not to have Phil in his life again, he will accept it, and he’ll be open with Clint about it. It’ll hurt like an old wound torn wide open, but he’ll accept it and he’ll move on somehow. He loves Clint too much to let him continue hurting like this, especially when Phil’s the reason for this mess.

But first. _First_ , he needs to make things right with Clint - and Natasha, because they’re a package, Strike Team Delta.

He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since being kidnapped, and the stool isn’t exactly comfortable, but he knows he should try so he lays his head down on his arms on the table and thinks of old times, such easier times, just the three of them and missions. The last thought he has before he drifts into fitful slumber is of Clint and Natasha in Guwahati, eating kulfi and watching the sunset. Days of old that he’ll never have again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just discovered that I could copy the word doc as rich text, which saves me a ton work! I'm such a dummy!  
> Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read, I really appreciate it! Constructive criticism is as always, welcome:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finally gets some explanations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warnings** Mentions self-harm and suicide. Please keep your self care in mind.
> 
> Thank you to ereshai for the awesome beta, as always.

The 4th of May, 2012 is the source of at least three quarters of Clint’s nightmares. It’s the reason that he won’t crawl into Natasha bed anymore, because it’s not fair to do that to her., He’s too much of a pathetic bastard to push her away if she comes to him, and they hold each other and try to sleep. For the last two years, May the 4th is the night Clint goes to Natasha’s apartment, -the safe house in Manhattan, not the wing in Stark Tower - and they drink until they can’t remember why they’re doing it. They never make it to the ceremony on the 4th, when America remembers the Chitauri attack on New York City. 

On the 4th of May, 2012, Natasha had kicked Clint into the railing on the Helicarrier and the other agents had dragged him off to the infirmary. On the 4th of May, she’d sat beside him in the infirmary and told him that there was nothing left to live for, because his life had been pierced with a magical scepter by the same man who had stolen his heart, and twisted and turned it until it hadn’t been his anymore. 

On the 4th of May, Phil Coulson had died, and Clint promised himself that he would stay alive long enough to put an arrow through Loki’s eye. Of course, he never managed because the first three months after that living nightmare, he’d been under lockdown in the lower dungeons of the Hub. It would have been much longer, but Tony and Steve had more or less hijacked the place and demanded that Fury let Clint go. Clint still isn’t sure that was the right thing to do. Then he somehow ended up moving into the Tower, and Tony didn’t give him access to the rooftops or the balconies, not that he couldn’t have broken through; and Clint is an asshole but not enough to hurt people like Steve who looked at him like he just wanted to tuck him into bed all the time. 

Then he’d met Bobbi on that mission to Cross Tech and after the utter bedlam that had been Crossfire, it had almost been inevitable that they would end up in bed together. He still doesn’t know how that initial tumble had resulted in marriage nine days later, but then, they were both SHIELD agents which said something about their sanity. It hadn’t come as much of a surprise when the marriage fell apart. Then Bobbi became an Avenger and Clint moved to Bed Stuy and spent a lot of time hiding from Tony who wanted to get drunk with him. Mainly because it resulted in Steve being worried and disappointed with them both. There is a distinct possibility Tony had been more affected by their divorce that Clint had been, which really says something. Don’t get him wrong. Clint loves Bobbi a lot. And he knows he’s an asshole for giving Bobbi wrong expectations, and for mostly being a terrible husband, but he does love her, or he’d still be with her today. He also knows that he couldn’t have stayed with her when he couldn’t even lie to himself about the fact that he wasn’t as over Phil as he’d thought he was. Clint is an asshole. 

Jessica had been two months of fantastic sex, and on his side, an assumption that it was only sex. Ok, so he’s an idiot as well as an asshole. Penny was a red head with a secret, and he doesn’t really need to explain himself there. 

But somewhere along the line, he had adopted a dog and had been adopted by an almost 21 year old, stupidly rich markswoman who is unbelievably as good as him. Possibly better. Aww Katie. Just looking at her makes him feel old. Kate and her texting and baby Avengers and coffee that costs eight bucks a cup. Kate, who has no reason to hang out with Clint but does because she’s amazing like that. He really loves Kate.

There haven’t been any men since Phil. Of course there are the Avengers, the place is a sausage fest, but he’s never felt attracted to any of them in anything other than a clinical sense. They’re friends, Clint likes to believe, but none of them know him like Phil did, and Clint doesn’t know if that’s because he’s afraid to lose them, or afraid they’ll leave him when they unearth all his dirty secrets. 

He does know that since the 4th of May, 2012, a particular shade of blue evokes panic attacks in him that only Tony understands. He and everyone on the team know that aiming for Clint’s chest during training could end in a broken neck (Clint had never been so thankful for Logan’s healing factor until then). 

The 4th of May 2012 had been the day Phil Coulson stopped walking the earth. 

Or so Clint had thought. Except here he is, alive and well and sitting in front of him, painfully squeezing Clint’s wrist. Clint needs to know how he missed that, so he lets Phil hold on if that’s what he needs. So even though the very date sends a dread deep into his very bones, he asks, “How about you start from the 4th-”, his voice cracks “the 4th of May, 2012?”

There is a pause, after which Phil shifts his eyes from their joined hands to look Clint straight in the eyes. “I died, Clint.”

Phil is sitting right in front of him, alive, though clearly not well- but that doesn’t stop the air from emptying out of his lungs, leaving him absolutely breathless and numb. He had seen the video thousands of times, had watched it for hours locked up in Avengers Tower until JARVIS had found out and told Steve who put an end to it. It hadn’t mattered by then anyway because those nine seconds had been burned into his brain, the only thing he could see when he closed his eyes for months. Phil is sitting right in front of him, but that doesn’t stop his mind from running those nine seconds again and again, to Phil’s half open, vacant eyes, even though his own eyes aren’t closed anymore. 

Phil presses into his wrist even more, jolting him out of his thoughts. He keeps looking at Clint the same way he used to when Clint ended up in medical, eyebrows cinched together, lips a thin straight line. He keeps looking at Clint like he’s worried. “Are you with me?”

Clint’s hands twitch for a bow that isn’t there, and he isn’t sure his voice won’t crack again, so he just nods, and Phil continues. 

“Director Fury used some... unorthodox methods to bring me back, and I’ve been back on duty since last September. Small team, Ward from Operations, FitzSimmons from Sci Tech, and Skye, she’s a consultant.”

“And Mel.” He had seen Mel. That hurts. Mel had been one of his supervising agents under Coulson when he’d first joined SHIELD. Mel was supposed to be his friend, and she’s been lying to him, but it’s SHIELD, and he isn’t angry, just hurt. 

“She’s just the pilot.” There is half a smile on Phil’s face, a smile only a handful of people get to see, and Clint can’t help but burst into quite possibly hysterical laughter. He laughs until his stomach aches and he’s doubled over on the table, one hand almost knocking over the coffee pot, the other still held immobile by Phil. 

“Just the pilot huh?” He manages to choke out. “Melinda May is just the pilot?” 

“That’s what Ward said.”

By the time Clint composes himself, there are tears in his eyes. Jesus, he’s completely gone over the other end. Clint takes a deep breath and chugs the rest of coffee in the pot. It burns but at least that means he’s alive, not dead or losing his fucking mind. Phil isn’t smiling anymore, concern clear on his face. “Sorry. I swear I’m only crazy because you can’t join the Avengers otherwise. And in my defense, you’re the one who put me on the same team as those nutcases in the first damn place.” That brings back that half smile, so Clint continues, “Anyway, you’re on the Bus now?”

“Yes. We track people with extraordinary abilities, and introduce ourselves, you know the drill.” That he did. After all, he’d gotten that very introduction from Phil himself.

“Welcome wagon, huh?”

“Something like that,” Phil replies. The hand on his wrist is starting to loosen. 

“Why lie to us?” He needs to know. Phil had said earlier that it wasn’t because he didn’t trust Clint. If Clint is even going to be even half way to believing that, he’s going to need some proof. 

“Clint, you have to understand. I thought I was going to die. So I suggested that Director Fury use my death to bring the team together. I didn’t think it would work, I mean, I’m just a suit-”

“Just a suit? Right. Just the suit that Tony’s gone and named four of his new charities after.”

There is a pinched expression on Phil’s face that is a mixture of embarrassment and regret. “I really wasn’t expecting that.” Phil finally releases his now bruising wrist and taking a sip from his own coffee cup. He sets the cup down, hands crossing in front of him. “I thought I was done for. I didn’t think I’d survive, Clint. But then I did, I woke up after the attack and the Director told me that he had allowed you to continue believing in my death. It had already been over two years by the time my physiotherapy finished and I was cleared for duty,” There is a flash of hidden horror in Phil’s face at the word physiotherapy that Clint almost misses, but Phil continues, “He told me my death was level 7 classified, and ordered me not to let the Avengers, including you and Natasha, know I was alive. By then, I figured you’d all moved on, and it would be better to let you continue believing I’d died. I thought it would be better for _you_. Nick said you’d been doing well. Married, even.”

“We divorced in September,” He looks away from Phil, fingers drumming on the wooden table. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clint.” Clint doesn’t get why everyone keeps saying that to him, he’s the one at fault here, yet people keep apologizing to him. Bobbi deserves it more than he does. 

“Seriously, it’s ok.” The silence that follows is a bit (a lot) awkward so Clint decides to change the subject back. “I just don’t get why Fury didn’t tell us.”

Phil hesitates for a split second, “I’m not sure. I just. I trusted the system. I assumed that he didn’t want to lose your support.”

“But he must have known he couldn’t keep that up forever. The longer he waited, the worse the reaction was going to be. He should’ve known that,” Clint points out. Especially when dealing with a diva the likes of Tony Stark. The silence is once again uncomfortable, and the longing for those golden days in Coulson’s office, Phil working and Clint just relaxing, hits him like an eighteen wheeler. But something is wrong, Phil looks so lost and tired that Clint can’t help but break it. “Sir. That isn’t everything, is it? What’s going on?” 

“I’m not your handler anymore, Clint. Please just call me Phil.” Clint doesn’t know if he can. He’s been Phil in his head for so long that he’s forced his body never to say the name out loud, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to push that word out of his throat, so he nods, hoping that Phil understands. 

Phil sighs, and stands up. “I need to get my suitcase. Wait here a second.” He disappears into the living room and returns with a suitcase, laying it atop the breakfast bar. The DNA scan turns green and the case clicks open, revealing two files, labelled THE T.A.H.I.T.I. PROJECT and OPERATION PRODIGAL SON. He pulls out the files and sets the suitcase and the rest of its contents onto the kitchen floor. Phil’s hands are shaking. It’s almost unnoticeable, but he’s Hawkeye and he can’t not see, and once he’s seen it, he can’t help but reach across the table and place his hands on Phil’s. “It’s ok,” Phil assures him, but he doesn’t sound so sure of himself. This isn’t the Coulson Clint remembers, but maybe he’s seeing Phil now. Phil sits back, pulling his hands away and stares at Clint straight in the eye again. “Clint, I was dead.”

“Fuck,” Clint breathes out. Those words are poison in his veins and soon his heart won’t be able to function anymore. Clint can’t handle any more reminders. “I know that. Can you just, stop saying that? Jesus.” He can’t help lashing out. He just wishes Phil would stop saying it. 

Phil seems taken aback, “Clint, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be handing you my burdens. This was a terrible idea. Maybe it’s better for you not to know. You don’t have clearance anyway and-”

“What? You were about to tell me classified information?” This really isn’t the Phil he remembers. Something isn’t right. But he pushes that thought again to the back of his mind at the look of doubt on Phil’s face. “No, no. I can handle it. I’m good. Sorry, I overreacted. I’m good.”

Phil doesn’t look reassured and scrutinises Clint’s expression. Something must restore confidence in him because the next thing he says is, “I was operated on by a team of doctors. This is the medical file. When I first woke up, I was in Tahiti for physiotherapy. It’s a magical place,” Phil lets out a laugh, but there is no mirth in it. “I was told that I’d been... under... for eight seconds, that the medics had brought me back and operated for 36 hours until I was stabilized. That the physiotherapy went for a year and some until I was fit to return. But.” Phil takes a deep breath, grabs the pot of coffee from Clint’s side of the table and pours himself some more. 

“Clint, he was lying. He was lying about everything.” Phil opens the files, turning it at an angle so Clint can’t see the files, roots through and pulls out a single sheet of paper, and hands it over. 

Clint takes it and skims through the medical report. “But this is impossible.” It can’t possibly be true. “Phil, it says five days.”

“Yeah. Not eight seconds. Five days.”

“That isn’t possible, this has to be a mistake.” But the look on Phil’s face shuts him up. 

“I thought I was in Tahiti, but they were operating on me the whole time. For 2 years. They changed my memories.” Phil’s voice wobbles at the end of that sentence. 

“How did you...?” Clint can’t talk anymore; he’s not smart, he isn’t a doctor, but this can’t be real. He cannot comprehend the sentences printed on that sheet of paper. 

“We’ve been tracking the movements of Centipede,” Phil answers. “Do you remember the explosion in Grand Central Station in September?” Clint nods. He had been in Zurich on a mission at the time, but he’d heard about it. “Well, it was the result of one of their experiments. We managed to recruit the subject, but then his son was kidnapped. They gave him back, and in return, took me.” 

Clint’s head snaps up from the medical report to Phil’s face. “What? When was this?” Clint demands, hand gripping the table, using every bit of self-control he has to not smash something.

“About 2 weeks ago. They have a backer, who calls himself the Clairvoyant. He... he knew things, Clint. He suspected something wasn’t right and...” He pulls out the second file labelled OPERATION PRODIGAL SON and hands it over. “Here’s the mission report.”

He quickly reads it, his blood turning to ice as he reads what happened. Afterwards, he looks up and Phil looks so raw that he can’t help but reach over and grab both his hands with his own. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, and just stays there, hands together, until Phil’s cold clammy hands finally stop shaking. 

The doorbell rings and they both stand up, automatically switching to combat position, with Phil immediately placing the files back away into the secure suitcase. Clint sneaks a look out the window down below and sees- oh shit, Fury himself, glaring right back up at him. “Do you have any idea how cold it is right now? Open the damn door, Barton.”

They both stand down, hands away from their gun holsters. Clint buzzes Fury in and within half a minute, comes face to face with the Director of SHIELD. 

“So I guess the cat’s out of the bag, sir,” Clint can’t help but retort. There is no way in hell the asshole is getting in his apartment, so Clint just holds the door open and stands in the way, leaving Fury to stand with his arms crossed in front of him. 

“If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re ain’t damn well getting one. I did what I thought I had to do. I’m holding onto that opinion.” Fury turns to Coulson, who has since moved to stand right behind Clint. “Cheese, I need you back on base, with Sitwell, now.”

“Sitwell knew too?” Clint chokes down the frenzied laughter threatening to overcome him again. “This has got to be the worst kept secret in SHIELD history.” Next they’ll be telling him that Coulson had been walking around the Hub for all to see. 

“Director Fury, I’m not done here, I’ll get back to base when I can.” Phil is calm as usual, but Clint gets the feeling that their relationship is off somehow. 

“Are you kidding me? Does this even remotely resemble a democracy to you? I swear we talked about authority already. Back to the Hub. Now. We can take even my car so you don’t have to call a cab again. I fucking hate Bed Stuy, no offense Barton” 

“I’ll take some, if you don’t mind, sir.” Clint is a jackass who is going to get murdered by the power of that glare, but he doesn’t give a fuck because that is how mad he is at Fury right now.  
“Clint, it’s ok. I’ll see you soon.” Phil says before walking back towards the loft bedroom to retrieve his jacket.

“We can be sure of that. Wait till Stark hears about this.” Clint says this more as a ‘fuck you’ to Fury than anything, because he may have known Phil the longest, even longer than Natasha, but they cared about him too, and deserve to know. Unless they knew and were hiding it from him because they couldn’t trust him. He throws that thought away as soon as it crosses his mind because trust or not, Steve Rogers wouldn’t do that to him. 

“This is level 7 classified information and you are not authorized to even know it, let alone divulge that information to anyone else.”

“Well, I don’t work for you anymore, so I don’t know how you plan to make me do anything.” 

Fury sighs in resignation at that, leaning against the doorframe. “Listen you little shit, blame that on Stark and Rogers pulling you out before psych deemed you fit. If you’d gone through psych eval like I damn well told you to, we wouldn’t be having this issue in the first damn place.” He’s right, Clint thinks. But then again, being officially out of SHIELD hasn’t exactly changed anything except for the size of the paycheck he receives for the numerous consultancies he does for them. And knowing Phil is alive and all. 

Fury stands up straight again as Phil makes his way back to them, looking more put together than half a minute ago, and decides to focus his glare at Phil. “I think we’re done here.”

It’s only after he’s closed the door behind the two of them and heads back to grab some fresh clothes that he notices a sheet of paper with a 10-digit number on his bed. Phil must have left it there when he ran up to get his coat. By the area code, he figures it’s not an official SHIELD number. A personal cell number, then. 

He folds up into the bed and lays there, body curling into itself with the phone number crunched up in his palm. _Please believe me, you are in no way responsible._ He can’t, not yet. But for Phil, he’ll damn well try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I really appreciate all the comments and kudos you've been leaving me, it makes my day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is overworked, and sleep deprived, but at least he has the chance to talk to his rather confused team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nick Fury is, in my opinion, one of the hardest characters to write for. 
> 
> Thanks to ereshai for being super fast with editing this chapter. I think I love you more that I love chocolate. And I'm sort of Swiss.

“You’re fucking with the status quo, Cheese.” Nick sighs from beside him in the driver’s seat. They’re stuck in traffic, which isn’t surprising considering it’s New York City in the morning. What is surprising is the note of weariness in the Director’s voice. Phil has known Nick Fury since before he was Nick Fury, when they had each other’s backs in the Gulf, when they had just been Marcus and Cheese. More than 30 years of friendship and he’s never heard that bone weary note in Nick’s voice once. He’s witnessed anger, frustration and worry, but Phil has never seen Nick look like he’s ready to give up. Phil stares out the window, at the coffee shop they’ve been stuck in front of for the last 5 minutes, refusing to feel sympathy, or regret for adding another thing to Nick’s list of things he has to worry about. But then, 30 years of friendship and all Phil had gotten in return for that during the last two years was lie after lie after yet another lie. He had thought he was one of the few people Nick actually trusted. And that sting is going to take some time before it can be soothed. 

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t thought it wise to lie to the world’s first task force comprised of superhumans, Marcus,” Phil replies, much to the Director’s chagrin. 

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t done and gotten yourself killed, asshole,” he shoots back, now honking at the two men in the vintage Impala beside them trying to cut into his lane. “Motherfuckers,” he mutters under his breath, then glares at Phil. “I ain’t dealing with that shit with the Avengers. That’s what I have Sitwell for.”

“You weren’t trying very hard to keep this a secret, though, were you? You could have clearly silenced Agent-” Phil corrects himself, “sorry, Mr. Barton, but you didn’t.” 

Nick rolls his eyes. “Threatening an Avenger isn’t something SHIELD should be doing, this situation is FUBAR as is. Lying to the Avengers once resulted in the destruction of a large portion of the Helicarrier due to one green anger monster. Who knows how the second time is going to turn out? Barton is a loose cannon. A third time, Phil? I know how to pick my battles. We’ll handle this.” Phil’s known Nick for 30 years, and he knows he’s lying. This is clearly not going to be the last time that Nick Fury will lie to the Avengers, this is not even the last time he is going to lie to Phil, but then, they’re part of a secret organization. It’s practically to be expected, Phil thinks. Nick hasn’t finished yet. “Though I suppose with the Avengers back in the loop, you can stop hiding from the Hub and finally get back to doing your damn job.”

“In my defense, I wouldn’t be behind on work at the Hub if you’d just gone and hired someone to take over my position while I was, you know, dead.” Phil turns and looks at Nick with raised eyebrows, daring him to find a suitable excuse. In the two years since his death and resurrection, no one had taken over Phil’s position as the head of field assignments. While Phil had been in recovery, the work had been evenly split between Nick and Maria, but upon his return, he had more or less inherited a room full of overdue work. What it comes down to is that even though Phil is based on the Bus with complete autonomy, he’s still overseeing all field missions with clearance level 6 or higher. This basically means a lot of reading and analysing briefings and debriefings along with mission plans, and the workload is starting to overwhelm him. Before, he had taken care of all of that, as well as weapons development and the weirder cases like Tony Stark. But being away from the Hub so much while still trying to run it is too much. That’s why he’d missed the lack of an extraction plan in Ward and Fitz’s case. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for that. In Phil’s defense, he just didn’t have the time to do all of this and lead a field-based team, which was unlike Strike Team Delta in that they had always been based at the Hub when they were off-duty. 

“Yeah, because replacing my one good eye would have been as easy as pie right?” Nick snaps at him. The oncoming turn to the right is a lot more vicious than it has any right to be, and Phil slides against the passenger door. 

“Agent Hand is particularly talented.” The look that Nick shoots him is enough to silence Phil on that subject. 

“You’re going to sit down with Sitwell, and find a way to calm down those motherfuckers who call themselves the Avengers, and then figure out a way to keep your team working as well as they have been so far, but this time without you.”

“Nick, I can’t just abandon them, they’re my team,” Phil insists. He’d handpicked the members of his team and they’re the cream of the crop, but he knows they’re still fresh and a change in handler won’t do them any good right now. 

“I’m not asking you to. But if we’re not hiding you anymore, then you might as well spend more time on the base-“

“We’ve discussed this at length. My team is less effective if they’re based at the Hub,” Phil maintains.

“I know that. I’m suggesting that you place priority levels on your cases, or something like that. Find a suitable replacement. Maybe just put May in charge, and then add another field agent. Spend a few missions with the addition, then let them handle the easier cases. You can join them for 0-8-4s and more sensitive cases. Figure it out.”

Phil knows the end of a discussion when he hears it. The rest of the drive to the Hub is silent except for when they finally reach the entrance to the Hub. “Stay away from Avengers Tower. That’s an order, Senior Agent.” 

Before he can ask why, Fury stalks off, catching the elevator and closing the door before he’s even made it to the entrance desk. Clearly, Nick was hiding more secrets. Lovely. 

***

It’s 6 pm and Phil is still buzzed from spending a day back at the Hub. He’s spent almost the entire day working with Jasper on their 9 am with the Avengers tomorrow, and on getting back to some of his duties as third in command. Phil is in his old office at the base. All the little knick knacks are on the Bus, so this place doesn’t really feel like home. Even the couch where Clint used to sprawl on back in the days of Strike Team Delta is gone, moved into his new office. But the room is still his, and so that is where the impromptu meeting that he scheduled this morning is to be held in an hour. 

He isn’t so sure they’re ready to be back at work, what with the death of a 19 year old fresh in their minds, but this is also to deal with the Avengers, and that makes it highest priority. He’s already raised Skye’s clearance level to a level 3, which, while not high enough to actually know a lot of the details about the Avenger Initiative, is as high as AD Hill would allow, considering her past. He’d at least received authorization to tell her about the Avengers Initiative, which was enough. Skye clearly didn’t care about that, since the only response he’d received when he told her earlier this morning was a squeal and subsequent verbal diarrhea. 

In the meantime, he has an hour before they show up, so he pulls out Clint’s psych files. It makes him cringe once again, but he rereads the reports. After the attack, Clint had been under lockdown for three months. Three months of interrogation; of seclusion and medical tests. That is, until Stark and the Captain had decided that enough was enough, and forcibly removed him, a fact which secretly makes him glad. Clint had always preferred being on his own. Even within SHIELD, he had very few friends, so the fact that working a single mission with him had resulted in such loyalty from the other two Avengers had initially made Phil feel secure in his future. While Nick and the psych department had both strongly suggested that he return for medical tests and therapy, Dr. Banner managing to prove that Clint was no longer affected by the scepter meant that he had at least had a choice. And Clint had chosen to leave SHIELD to stay with the Avengers. Reading through the psych reports, it becomes clear that the usage of SHIELD therapists so quickly after the assault on the Helicarrier was a mistake. The attack had left them with a large bias that even they couldn’t work around. While Phil in general was very approving of therapy, this was a case where it had clearly done more harm than good. Considering the classified nature of his experiences, Clint couldn’t simply talk to any therapist, and thus, he’d been left to deal with his trauma alone. Phil’s hands are shaking by the end of it, a wave of intense self-hate washing over him for letting this happen to his asset. He should have made sure things were truly well and not just trusted Nick to take of his friend. 

Phil forces himself to close the files and takes a second look at the Avengers Initiative, now grown to include Logan (codename Wolverine), a mutant who has been spoken for by Professor Xavier himself, Jessica Drew (codename Spider-Woman), an Englishwoman, and Bobbi Morse, (codename Mockingbird), another SHIELD agent and Clint’s recent ex-wife. There are others as well, creating a group of 24 Avengers, but these are the ones currently based at the Tower. He’s reading through the new additions to the team and is so immersed in the profiles that before he knows it, the clock clicks to 6:45 pm. He removes the files and puts them away. 

As he had expected, May knocks on his door and enters without waiting for an answer. She’s dressed in civvies, black slacks and a dark green knit sweater. Her hair is down, which always makes her seem a bit softer. Phil has known the soft side of Melinda May, but he knows it doesn’t make her soft; more than one enemy had made that mistake. Phil starts to stand up and May gestures him back down. He sits, waving his hand to offer her a seat, which she then takes. “I told you right in the beginning that this would blow up in your face.” Melinda stares at him, legs crossed one over the other ever so elegantly.

“You took it well, and you didn’t know until I found you in administration.”

“I didn’t work exclusively with you for years, even before Romanoff showed up. And I know I’m fucked up, but I haven’t got half the issues that Clint does. And you know that I’m all for protocol, but you did wrong.” She’s right. Phil knows that. Clint had been 22 years old and chock full of daddy and brother issues when Phil had tailed him to his hideout and offered him a better job than being a mercenary. Two years of accelerated training in Operations instead of five, and one year of probation with Melinda. It had almost been a year at least, when she’d dragged Clint literally by the ear to Phil’s office and dumped him there, telling him that she had five other baby agents to supervise and didn’t have the energy or interest in dealing with this much insubordination. Mel had always had a soft spot for Clint. And of course it was the best decision he’d ever made. Three years of being Clint’s handler and watching him soar through the ranks up to level 7, and then Natasha. Five years of Strike Team Delta, the most dangerous and efficient three-man team that SHIELD had ever deployed. 

It’s a bit of an unfair assessment, considering that she’s far too young, but Phil likes to think that Melinda treats Clint as she would a teenage son. He’s irritating and makes her want to hurl sharp things in his direction, but she is fiercely protective of him. Phil has known her since her Academy days, and they’ve been friends since he took a bullet in the shoulder for her in New Jersey of all places, so she’s one of the only people in the world he truly listens to in anything. 

“I trusted the system. And it failed me. I get that Mel, but I don’t know how to fix it. He...” Phil trusts Melinda but all of a sudden he isn’t sure he wants to tell her things about Clint that seem private. But then, he’s already told Jasper and Nick and neither of them feel as strongly for Clint as Melinda does. “Did you know that he blamed himself for my death?”

Melinda rolls her eyes. “Yes. Natasha told me. I didn’t get involved, it wasn’t my place, but I know she tried talking to him, however much good that did.”

Phil can’t help but want to know more. “What about Bobbi Morse?”

“What about her? They went on a mission, got married and then it went to hell. It’s not like she could have understood him Phil, she was fresh at the Academy when everything happened in New York. She didn’t know who you were, or what you had meant to him until much later. The legendary pursuits of Strike Team Delta do eventually get around,” Mel smiles that half smile of hers. He’s missing something, and she knows it. “Anyway, they’re not together anymore, Phil.”

Phil would feel happy about it, except he’s miserable that Clint has once again lost a chance at building a family. But Mel reads him like an open book, she always has. “He has a family, Phil. The Avengers are a family, you should see them together.”

“Oh, I will. We’re meeting up tomorrow.”

“That sounds like fun. Except for the part where you’ve probably disappointed Captain America himself.” Now the smile in her eyes is full of pure, unadulterated mockery. Then she turns serious. “I got your e-mail by the way. I signed up to pilot the Bus, now you want to dump this team on me? This is in no way what I want.”

“Well, it was Director Fury’s suggestion.” And they both know that any suggestion by the Director might as well have been an order. Melinda opens her mouth to speak, then closes it and turns to the door right as someone knocks. “Come in,” Phil calls out. 

And the rest of the team bustles in, still subdued by the events of last week. After the initial greetings, Fitz and Skye pull out the foldable chairs from behind his shelf to the right and set them up. Soon they are all seated, and waiting expectantly. He puts his hands on the desk, and starts. “First of all, thank you for coming. I know it’s not ideal, and I know it’s your day off, but this is really important. In return, we’re schedule for an extra day off tomorrow, barring any emergency 0-8-4s.” They nod more or less simultaneously. “As you are not all aware, I have to start at the beginning I think.” He sneaks a look at Melinda and then runs his eyes over the entire team. “Yesterday, we were confronted by Mr. Barton who arrived early to the Hub and thus observed something he was not aware of. Mr. Barton is a former Agent of SHIELD and current consultant, better known as Hawkeye of the Avengers.” He takes a pause, knowing that he’s about to be interrupted anyway. 

“Oh my god that dude with the great ass was Hawkeye-ow oh come on!” Skye squeaks as she’s given an elbow into both sides for her burst by Simmons and Ward. “Sorry, boss.” Phil smiles at her and stores that tiny tidbit of hero worship into his mind for another date. 

“Yes, that was Hawkeye. Agents Ward and May are both undoubtedly familiar with the taskforce known as Strike Team Delta.” Ward takes a deep breath, the reverence in his face clear. Surprisingly, so do FitzSimmons. 

“Operations isn’t the only ones who’ve heard of them, Agent Coulson. Your team was legendary,” Fitz says, Simmons nodding along eagerly. 

“What, is this like the Sailor Scouts of SHIELD or something, what am I missing here?” 

Phil casts a look at Melinda, who rolls her eyes and begins to explain. “Strike Team Delta is the deadliest and most efficient three man offensive task force that SHIELD has ever seen, composed of Agent Coulson and Agents Barton and Romanoff. You know them nowadays as Hawkeye and Black Widow. They worked together for five years, and no one’s beaten their record for percentage of completed missions since they disbanded a little more than two years ago.”

Skye looks at Coulson, then back at the rest of the team who, except Melinda, are still nursing a look of pure awe on their faces. “Well, why did they break up if they were so good then?”

“Because I died.” Maybe Clint had a point about that particular sentence, maybe it was too morbid. FitzSimmons go pale, Ward nods with a pinched look on his face, and Melinda rolls her eyes, but Skye just gapes at him. 

“I’m sorry, what? No you didn’t. I’m literally looking at you right now. Please don’t tell me you’re a zombie or a vampire. I really hate Twilight, and the Walking Dead just freaks me out.”

Thirteen years of snarkiness and pop culture references has made him immune to them by now, so he doesn’t even twitch. “I was... injured during the battle of New York and Director Fury told the newly formed Avengers that I had died so that he could motivate them to fight together. They did, but he never told them the truth until-”

“Wait. You know the Avengers?” Skye interrupts. 

May answers before him, “The Avengers Initiative was an idea put forward by Agent Coulson.” That’s an over exaggeration, but true; it had been his idea, because after Iron Man, his childhood belief in superheroes had been strengthened. But Nick had been the one who’d ran with it, figurative hair floating in the wind. 

“Oh my god. Are you serious. My boss is so cool.” Phil bites his lips to stop the laughter as Skye practically shakes in her seat, hands flying everywhere, almost poking Ward in the eye with a stray finger. This is why he didn’t want them to know these secrets. “WAIT A SECOND. Are you telling me you worked with Hawkeye for five years-”

“Technically eight if you count the two-man team before Agent Romanoff joined,” Ward interjects. It sounds so much worse when they say it out loud. Eight years together and this is what Clint gets in return. 

“Right. So you worked with this dude for eight fraking years, and then you let him believe you were dead?” Skye scrunches her face at him. “No offense sir, but that’s a dick move.”

Yes, he gets it. He really does. 

“It sort of makes sense, I mean, he was compromised and did cause-” Ward never makes it to the end of the sentence because Melinda stands up and kicks over his chair, angling it towards her. Ward stands up so as not to fall over.

“If at any point, you’re trying to convey that Barton was at fault for the incident on the Helicarrier, we’re going to have a major problem, the two of us. Is that understood?” She levels a glare at him.  
Ward clears his throat and replied, “I never meant any disrespect. I don’t blame him, I understand what happened. But I know not everyone, maybe even higher ups, see it that way.” That wasn’t at all what Phil had expected, and he feels reassured once again in choosing Ward for the team. 

“Agent May, Agent Ward, would you please have a seat,” Phil suggests, but never gets further because Skye has to interrupt again. 

“Ok, I am absolutely lost, can someone tell me what that conversation was about?” 

Phil doesn’t even have to say anything because like clockwork, FitzSimmons reply simultaneously, “It’s classified.”

“But I’m level 3 now!”

“And this is level 7 classified,” Phil replies. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you everything. I had to get special authorization to even speak to you about the Avengers. I just want you to understand that he wasn’t aware of my being alive until yesterday, which is why our debriefing was so rushed yesterday. I needed to deal with the situation at hand before things flew out of control. However, chances are that very soon, if they haven’t been already, the Avengers will be made aware of the deception, which does not bode well for SHIELD’s relationship with them.” Phil ignores Fitz’s muttered ‘I’ll say’ and continues, “One main purpose of me leading our operation was to make sure that my death remained secret, however, it’s too late now. As you are all aware, I am the agent in charge of all SHIELD field missions, a job that is becoming increasingly difficult to do along with the missions our team deals with. Agent Sitwell and I had a meeting this morning.” He pauses. “It has been decided that while I remain in charge of our team, Agent May will take a more active role in leading missions while I take more time to focus on my other responsibilities at SHIELD.”

“But sir! You can’t just leave us for the Avengers!” Simmons looks heartbroken, and the rest of the team barring Melinda look shocked. They’re all just babies, and this work is important, but Phil had planned numerous ops while working on the Bus, and it was wearing him down. But then, so was the team and their work. And he always knew in the back of his mind that this team would do well without him. 

“Don’t worry, that’s not what I meant. I won’t be handling the Avengers, that’s Agent Sitwell’s job.” Being back on the Initiative wasn’t exactly the issue. Jasper was a great handler and they didn’t need someone else after two years. Phil had been adamant about that no matter what Jasper said. The team was good, he had picked them to work without him, and he had every confidence that they could. In the back of his mind, he knew this was also to find out as much as he could about his surgery and recovery. Something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t trust Nick anymore. “I will still be your main supervising officer. Agent May will simply be in charge of field operations, working along with another level 7 operative, depending on the individual situation. Don’t forget that our work is vital to SHIELD and world security, but-”

“You can’t be the Director’s one good eye if you’re never around, right?” Ward’s slightly bitter words are directly taken from the Directors’ mouth.

Phil nods. “All I’m saying is that instead of flying from one part of the world to another, we’ll simply be taking more frequent, planned breaks at the Hub when I am needed, and during those times, should an emergency situation arise, Agent May will take over command temporarily.” 

“I joined SHIELD for you,” Skye looks lost. 

He feels torn for the poor girl, and those words ring in his head. He remembers a 26 year old Clint telling him the same thing, in a haze of pain medication in SHIELD medical after a particularly bad mission. He tries to reassure her, “I am not just quitting and moving on, Skye. I am not. I’ll remain this team’s supervising officer, I’ll be around. I’m not leaving.” 

The others don’t look completely happy about the situation, but Phil is needed here. He just hopes that they will eventually understand. This is a brilliant team; they needed someone to give them the push to work together, and now Phil is almost sure they could work under Melinda. They could rotate qualified SHIELD agents until they found a capable addition. He doesn’t tell them that he plans to one day leave them completely; it’s too early for that. He just knows that he can’t work in Norway while he’s due to prepare a diplomatic ceremony for Nick for the Queen of Alfeim. Especially while trying to hide from Thor. He won’t miss those days, he thinks. 

He stands up, and the others follow suit. It’s with an entirely morose atmosphere that the team leaves his office. Skye even walks around the desk to hug him tightly. He holds on. “Don’t disappear on us, ok?” He promises. The babies are moping, Phil thinks wryly. He wasn’t expecting that much opposition, to be honest. 

Then she leaves too and it’s just Melinda and him. “I could still say no.”

“What? You’ll make Simmons cry. Don’t do that, Mel. Only evil people make Simmons cry.” Phil sits back down and turns on his laptop, he has work to do. 

“Urgh.” The only other noise he hears is that of a door closing a moment later. 

Phil gets back to work, only to find his laptop hacked. 

So, Tony first then.

It’s a video of Clint shooting in an unfamiliar range; the date stamp shows that it’s a live feed. His forearm is red and his fingers are bleeding. Words appear on the screen. _Looks like your pants are on fire, Agent Agent. This is your fault. Fix this, you lying motherfucker. Captain Tightpants says I can’t menace you till tomorrow morning. Can’t wait. Toodles. xx._

Phil curses under his breath and slams his laptop shut. He can’t look but he can’t run in there right now and stop him either. It must be Avengers Tower, and he’s been explicitly ordered not to visit, not that he knows why. He understands that maybe Clint needs this, and needs a break from him but he can’t bear watching it. The temptation to drive over and pull the bow out of his hand is too overwhelming. He sneaks a look at the clock. It’s eight pm, the time he would usually go home.

But then he doesn’t have a home except for a one bedroom apartment in the hidden vaults of the Hub, and he doesn’t really want to sleep if it means he’ll be waking up screaming. He turns his laptop back on, the surveillance video is gone and so is any proof it was ever there. 

Phil gets back to work; it’s all he’s good for at the moment anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my readers mean the world to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers find out, and Clint lets out some of his frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** Self-harm. Do put your self-care first, dear readers. 
> 
> Thanks to ereshai for the lovely beta.

The desperate itch for a target and some height drives Clint back out of bed, which is when he realizes that it’s actually only 11 in the morning. Still, he needs to get to Avengers tower and talk to the others, so he puts on a fresh set of clothes and walks back down to his living room. He slips into a jacket and a pair of shoes, grabs his necessities (phone, wallet, bow, and quiver case) and runs down the stairs to the front of the building to catch a cab. He has to run all the way back up to feed Lucky only to realise after pouring out the kibble that Lucky is with Kate. _Clint, you dummy_.

On the way to the Tower, he calls Steve and asks him to assemble the core team. There are two dozen Avengers now, they don’t need all of them. Most of them don’t even know who Phil Coulson was, no. _Is_.

He makes it in 20 minutes which is ridiculously amazing timing for New York, so he tips the driver really well and goes inside. Sliding glass doors open and he’s welcomed back by JARVIS less than a second after that. “Agent Barton, it is a pleasure to have you with us again.”

“Hey, JARVIS. How are ya?”

“Well. Thank you for asking.” Clint thinks it’s unfair most people don’t. Clint’s not the smartest guy around, but Artificial Intelligence is still Intelligence. JARVIS is a person. Not flesh and bone, but he’s still a being. Besides, JARVIS is too awesome to be mean to, he’s always believed in Clint even through the dumb mistakes, and God knows he’s made a lot through the years. “It might interest you to note that the Avengers are assembling in the main conference room. Aside Agent Romanoff, all core members are to be present.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.” Clint salutes the nearest security camera, which earns him a chuckle, and then shouts a hello to Happy at the security desk before reaching the elevator and hitting the UP button. He hasn’t panicked or done anything too out of the ordinary for him just yet, so he’s rather proud of that. Thirty-eight floors, a lady with awesome purple earrings, and a scientist who reminds Clint of Bruce when he’s gotten caught up in some project or the other later, he reaches the private apartments and common rooms of the Avengers. The height already makes breathing a bit easier. JARVIS opens the doors for him and he walks through the living room and into the kitchen, grabbing two cookies from the cookie jar (thank you, Steve Rogers, for being the perfect team mother), shoves them into his mouth. He has his own apartment upstairs, but usually he just stays down here. He takes a minute to breathe it in. He hasn’t been here for a while, and he’s missed it; the sweet scent of baked goods mixed with grease and Bruce’s camomile tea. He ditches the bow case in his quarters and then walks towards the room at the end of the hallway and opens the door. Steve, Bobbi and Jessica are the only ones present, the women sitting at the large oval table. A quick glance at the display on the wall to his right shows no major threats at the moment.

“Hey Clint!” Steve looks up and smiles at him. The women nod at him and continue to work on something on their tablet together. Bobbi does present him with a quick smile which he considers a win. At least they’re not glaring at each other anymore, because that was getting tedious, and fast. Clint walks up to Steve, who is standing to the right of the table and monitoring the display, and gets clapped on the back. Yeah, he hasn’t missed those. They don’t bruise like Thor’s shows of affection, because Steve knows his strength, but that doesn’t mean Clint doesn’t have to force himself not to flinch at the raised hand.

“Those cookies are all sorts of awesome, Steve.”

“Thanks, Clint.” Clint likes Steve, because even though he’s a dork at home and accidentally breaks stuff that belongs to Tony, he’s vicious and terrifying on the field. It’s awesome. Steve also treats Clint like a little brother, which, though irritating at first, is something he’s come to appreciate, not that he’s ever saying those words out loud.

“Hey, not a big deal, but do you want to maybe fill me in first? Is this an urgent thing, should I call in the others?” Steve asks.

“No, no, it’s not an Avengers thing really, no big bad as far as I know, Cap. Just. Something important that I think you need to know.” Clint totally forgot that Steve preferred knowing things in advance, but this isn’t something he’s had the time to present earlier.

“Good. Because we fought giant wasps yesterday, and Jasper was allergic. I’d really rather not have to deal with more of that today.” Then Steve looks away from the display and back at him, genuine worry flooding his face. “Clint, are you... you’re not ill are you?”

“What? No!”

Cap sighs in relief, turning his gaze back to the Bagalia situation, though it looks stable to Clint. He doesn’t say anything though, because let’s be honest, what does Clint know about strategy? “Good. You really had me worried there for a second, Hawkeye.”

Well. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he’s grateful when Tony is dragged in by Bruce, who sits him down across from Bobbi and Jessica at the table, then takes his tablet away. “Bruce, come on!”

“You can have it back after, I promise.” Bruce then shoots a look at Steve that more or less says, ‘why do I have to deal with this crap? I’m not his boyfriend’ and takes a seat beside Tony, who decides to stick his bare feet on top of the table. Clint moves to the front of the oval table, nearer to the windows so Steve has a bit more space.

“Do I need to enforce a new rule about shoes during meetings, Tony?” Steve hasn’t even turned to look at Tony. It’s kind of hilarious how quickly Tony moves his feet off the table, if only to deposit them onto Bruce’s lap.

“You’re caging me, babe. I need to fly.”

“Windows right over there, Tony.” Steve replies, not missing a beat. “Now hush, the adults are working.”

Tony then turns his attention to Clint. “Bed Stuy treating you well, Katniss? How’s the rat population?” So Tony may not be all that happy that the pieces of his super hero collection don’t want to stay with him all the time. Why Clint gets the brunt of it when they have Avengers based on the Moon, for fucks’ sake, he doesn’t know.

“Just fine. I’ll let them know you’re worried about them, maybe send them over for a visit?”

“Ha ha, very funny, don’t even think about it. Knowing you, there is probably some way to do it.” Bruce elbows Tony at this point, who just grins back at the physicist.

“It’s great to see you, Clint. Been a while.”

Clint rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ehh, sorry Doc, I just...” but Bruce shakes his head and smiles at him, which is Bruce-speak for ‘everything is fine’ so Clint stops being awkwardly apologetic. Steve comes and sits down at the head of the oval table, and Clint takes this as a cue to also take a seat, perching on the seat right next to him.

“Thor’s on his way,” Steve informs them.

As if on cue, the door is shoved open with far more force than necessary to allow entry to the Norse demi-god. “Dear Friends! Forgive my tardiness, but the Lady Jane is ever so talented with her tongue and-”

“Okay, we don’t want to know. Please shut up, like right now,” Bobbi tells Thor, to his utter dismay. Fortunately, he sees Clint. He saunters over to Clint and sits on the empty seat between Clint and Bobbi.

“Friend Hawkeye! We have missed you! It is a great pleasure to have you in our midst again!” Oh jeez. He moves to Bed Stuy for a few months and it’s like he’s abandoned them. They’re two dozen Avengers now, all with all sorts of super powers, and it’s the guy with the arrows who they want around all the time. It’s not like they don’t see him when they assemble or anything. Avengers Tower is so crowded these days. He remembers when he first moved in, the building had been half demolished by the Chitauri. He’d had so much space. Nowadays, he can’t hang out on the coveted G of the logo without Spider-Man or some other wall crawler coming over to say hi. Still, he can’t believe he was thinking of leaving the city around Christmas last month. Thank god he didn’t; he would have died from guilt trip alone. Why on earth they care so much is beyond him.

“Missed you too, Thor.” Against his better judgement, he holds his hand up for a high five, and gets his shoulder nearly dislocated for it.

“All right, if we could get on with this meeting? I have world-changing technologies to develop.”

“Tony, you’re working on our toaster.”

“No, Bruce, that can’t be right, I was using plutonium.” (1)

“Then I am most definitely not eating toast out of that thing.”

“All right, that’s enough Tony,” Steve interrupts the two scientists. “I’ve assembled you all today at Clint’s request, so I’m giving the floor over to him as soon as I make some announcements.”

“Hold on,” Jessica interrupts. “Where is everyone? This isn’t even half the team.”

“Clint called this meeting for the core members, Jess,” Steve explains. “I invited you seeing as you were home. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods.

“Good. First of all, that information we picked up about the Madripoor was sent to SHIELD, and Natasha is on the mission. She should be back tomorrow morning. Logan is still in Westchester until the Professor return. He is available though, should we need him, and Westchester isn’t so far we can’t just pick him up for any emergencies.” Steve glances down at the handwritten note he’s made (yes, because that’s what Captain America does).

“Smasher’s off-planet, Carol’s on a solo mission. Valkyrie is on stand-by, and in dire emergencies, we can call Wanda, though she’s spending some time with her twins at the moment. Next, Jasper asked us to meet him in Conference Room 13-B tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. I’m not sure what it’s about though.” He takes a breath and then puts his notes back down. “Lastly, the Fantastic Four want to plan a vacation in the summer of next year and we need to start coordinating so we have enough support next year during their absence. They proposed the idea of having others take over the role and the Future Foundation, but we have time. I just wanted to give a heads up; we don’t need to worry about that for another three months at least. That’s all I have from my side. Clint, you came back today from your solo SHIELD mission, am I right? Everything went well, I hope?”

Clint nods at him. “Uh yea, cakewalk. I actually came back last night, which is sort of why I have news. It’s probably why Jasper wants to meet us tomorrow at the Hub.” Clint takes a deep breath. He’s been trying to play it cool but the memories are shaking him up. “So I got back eight hours early, which is why I even saw him in the first place.” Clint can’t get rid of the image of Phil and his new team walking out of the Bus out of his mind, of him running home, no debrief, no waiting. “Director Fury lied to us, Coulson’s alive.”

Absolute silence.

Then simultaneously:

“THAT MOTHER FUCKER. I AM GOING TO SHUT DOWN THAT ENTIRE FUCKING ORGANIZATION. NO. I’m going own it. Then I’m going to fire him and become the director myself. Then I’m going to freeze his assets and send him off to who knows where. Canada maybe. JARVIS get me the Mark 2.1. THAT SON OF A BITCH LIED TO ME! TO ME! I NEED PEPPER.” Tony gets his phone. “Pepper. Pepper that bastard lied. Oh. Oh, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in Paris. But he lied, Pep. Phil’s alive. What. Yes. Phil Coulson Phil! I’m gonna kill him. I mean Fury, not Phil. Oh no Pepper don’t cry, please don’t cry, I’ll buy you those new blue Louboutins you wanted-” Tony’s kicked the chair over and is heading for the door, Steve following, but Clint has already started to tune him out.

“-THE VALIANT SON OF COUL LIVES? WHO DARES LIE TO THE SON OF ODIN! I WILL MAKE HIM PAY!-”

“-Can someone tell me what’s going on, who’s Coulson? Phil Coulson? Oh, Clint. Is he-” And Bobbi just freezes. Of course she would make the connection.

“-SHIELD agent, I think? And why are we even surprised that Fury lied? Wait, is that the Coulson that Tony named that orphanage after?”

But Bruce hasn’t said a word; he’s staring at Clint and shaking, and it’s been two years of Bruce only hulking out when he needs to, so this lack of control is a bit scary. Clint climbs up on the table and sits right in front of Bruce, grabbing him by the shoulders. Bruce hadn’t known Phil that well, having met the man only once, but he’d been there for Clint through the hardest times, especially when Natasha hadn’t been able to. The Bruce Banner Clint has come to know cares, and while Steve can be a mother hen, Bruce is better compared to a tigress when her cubs are in danger. “It’s okay, I swear. We’re okay. Fury is a dick, but it’s okay. Just breathe man, come on. For me.” They breathe in and out in unison until Bruce stops shaking. Clint realises everyone is staring in their direction, frozen in anticipation, even Tony who’s turned around, door half open behind him.

Clint waits until Bruce is completely in control before jumping off the table. “Anyway, I’m going to be in the range downstairs for a while. Is it ok if I stay tonight and go over to the Hub with everyone tomorrow?” He sounds a lot more stable than he really is, considering how long he’s been nursing the itch to shoot at something.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, this is your house too- wait what do you mean tomorrow? We are going right now, ok, so suit the fuck up.” Tony starts to leave again. Steve moves lightning fast and grabs him by the upper arm.

“No, Tony. We have to think and not act rashly.”

Tony tries to shakes the hand off, fails, and glares at Steve, “Are you deaf? Fury’s manipulated us, and lied to us for two damn years! I want to know why, and I want to know now.”

“You don’t think I’m wondering the same thing, Tony? But if we march in there, guns blazing, we could ruin the relationship we currently have with SHIELD and the World Security Council, which is more important. You know it is. Remember that we’re still technically under their jurisdiction. We’ll confront him tomorrow when everyone is a bit calmer.”

Tony looks like he’s going to try to break the hold again, but then slumps. Steve leads him back and he sits down to Steve’s right, hands crossed in front of him, eyebrows furrowed. Steve kisses him on the forehead and Tony softens just a tiny bit.

Clint slides off the table and starts to leave, not in the mood to repeat himself. “Clint, hold on.” It’s Steve, and Steve is one of the only people on the planet that he can’t say no to. He turns around mid-step. “Are you completely sure it was him?”

“Considering that he came over and we talked until Fury more or less forced him back to base, yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He turns around and walks out, ignoring Bobbi’s voice calling, “Clint, wait, we need to ta-”

He makes it back to his room, grabs his bow case, and takes the elevator down to the range. “JARVIS, I’m going to need total privacy. No one comes in, okay?” He needs this. He held it together for his team, but hell if he can do it for another second without his bow in his hand.

Draw. Aim. Fire.

Reload, rinse and repeat.

He only gets through half a quiver when JARVIS informs him that Bobbi is asking for entrance. “Tell her I’m busy.” Why could she never get that? He needed to shoot right now, not talk. Phil always knew –FUCK- knows that. No. Stop thinking about Phil.

Draw, aim, fire, reload. Draw, aim, fire, reload.

JARVIS reports 10 minutes later that Bobbi has left.

Around 2 pm, according to JARVIS, Bruce brings around a plate of food and leaves it at the door. He hasn’t eaten anything but two cookies all day. But food is the last thing on his mind. Clint ignores it, and ignores JARVIS.

Draw, aim, fire, reload.

Phil had given him his first bow at SHIELD, a gorgeous silver thing which he’d fallen in love with at first sight. He still has her, hanging above his couch in Bed Stuy. No, no more thinking about Coulson. Draw, aim, fire, reload.

At 5 pm, Clint switches to one of the bows with higher draw weight and he shoots the Robin Hood shot again and again and again until his shoulders ache and his right forearm is bright red. Kate would have been impressed. Actually no. Katie-Kate would have been pissed he wasn’t being more careful, but what does she know- she left.

Not that he can exactly blame her.

Ten hours after the Avengers had their meeting; Clint wipes the blood off of his bow and puts it back in its case.

He collects his arrows and finally asks JARVIS to open the door. There is a second plate of food waiting along with the first, and he takes both of them with him to the elevator, eating on the way. By the time he’s made it back to the kitchen, the first plate is empty and he’s started on the second, a spicy south Indian dish with fish and coconut. Bruce. It’s a meal that Bruce tends to make when he’s down, and it does, despite all means, manage to soothe Clint just a bit. It’s past midnight, so the only one who’s probably awake is Tony tinkering around in his lab. Clint grabs a glass of water and heads to his bedroom, asking JARVIS to open his doors.

Scratch that. Tony is totally awake in his bed, playing around on the tablet.

He sits up when he notices Clint but continues to work on his StarkPad. Clint settles on the sofa beside the bed and continues eating. Once he finishes, he places the plate on the desk and stares at Tony. “Just wait, Legolas.”

He doesn’t have long to wait. The door opens and Bruce comes in, carrying what appears to be a first aid kit and two cold packs. He sits on the bed and pulls at Clint’s arm until he’s looking at the bruising, blistered skin. The disinfectant stings his bleeding fingers, but the ice pack is a blessing for his forearm and shoulder. “Ten hours, huh? That’s gotta be a record or something.” Tony sits up and peers at the injuries. “Gross. I’m going to the lab. I have an idea. For the not-toaster. Good night.”

He jumps out of the bed and struts to the open door. “Steve said to let you be, which I totally get, and also because he said no sex for a week otherwise.” Bruce and Clint groan simultaneously. “But if you do this again, I’m going to override JARVIS, which you can’t change, no matter how much you flirt with him.” He shuts the door behind him before Clint can throw back a retort.

“Oh JARVIS, your dad doesn’t approve of our love.”

“Would now be a good time to inform you that, unfortunately, I personally have a predilection for the Canadarm?”

Clint can’t help but chortle along with Bruce. It feels good to finally laugh. Bruce finishes bandaging up his hand and arm, and then stands up. “I’m with Tony downstairs, just call if you need anything okay?”

Clint nods and Bruce takes his leave. He strips down to his t-shirt and boxers, grabs a pair of sweats from his closet, covered in a fine sheen of dust, and lies on his side in bed, using one hand to hold the ice pack on his shoulder in place and the other to pull the covers around him. His last thoughts before he goes to sleep are that just maybe, they would miss him if he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Blatant reference to the [Toasterverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/18228) by scifigrl47 which is an awesome awesome fic. More Superhusbands oriented that SHIELDhusbands, except for the last part. It’s just awesome. Go read it if you haven't. It's one of my all time favourites and I have all the fics in that series on my kindle. 
> 
> On a side note, there probably won't be an update until next sunday or something. Ereshai doesn't have the time for two betas this week, plus- I'm in the middle of exams/final papers. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers question their relationship to SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this took so long! Thanks to the lovely ereshai for beta.  
>  **Trigger Warnings:** Loss of will to live. I'm not tagging this suicidal because he isn't suicidal, it's very canon-typical.

_It’s bright. Phil’s eyes are closed but he can feel the bright rays of the sun hitting his back. It’s hot but not unbearably so, the wind providing welcome relief to Phil as he relaxes on the massage table, enjoying his afternoon therapy session. Then all at once the smell of formaldehyde overwhelms his senses and his eyes snap open._

_It’s bright. The surgical light is flashing in his eyes as Dr.Streiten shouts, “This is wrong!” and then Phil looks up at his reflection and then even higher up to where Fury and Hill are standing._

_“Please. Let me die, let me die, please.” He begs and begs and begs and they never do._

_They never do._

It’s bright. He’s shaking something awful and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Phil stares blearily at his surroundings and memory comes back to him. He’s in his office. A quick glance at his watch informs him it’s 4 am; he must have fallen asleep at his desk. The last thing he remembers doing is thanking Maria for the coffee she’d brought him around 11:30 pm. He pushes his chair back and stands up. There’s an ache in his back that has become worse over the last few weeks as Phil spent more and more time working at his desk, only succumbing to sleep for a few hours every other night when his body forced him to out of sheer need. He can’t close his eyes without that image of his reflection flooding back, so why bother trying, he thinks. He takes a look at himself, suit and pants wrinkled beyond help, tie crooked. He adjusts his tie and smoothes down his suit to no avail. Phil sighs and decides he might as well return to his quarters, he clearly isn’t being very productive at the moment; so he walks out of his office, locking the door with a press of his right hand to the scanner and heads towards the elevator.

It’s early but the Hub is anything but silent. Myriad missions around the world are being monitored and handled at that very moment, requiring around-the-clock vigilance. Phil nods and smiles at the few handlers and assets he passes before he reaches the elevator and takes it down all the way to level 8, sublevel C. When he reaches his room, he presses his hand onto the scanner and waits for the door to open. Phil walks in and shuts the door behind him. His quarters are small, only a bedroom and a bathroom; standard, if slightly larger than most. It’s quite bare, with a queen bed to his right and a wardrobe across from it; if he wasn’t standing in it, no one would know it was occupied. He strips down to his boxers, puts the wrinkled garment s in a suit bag, and hangs the bag in the wardrobe, away from the handful of clean suits hanging there. He pulls out a fresh suit and sets it on the bed with a clean pair of boxers. The door beside the wardrobe leads to his bathroom, where he removes his boxers and dumps them into the laundry basket nearby. He turns on the shower and steps under the spray as soon as its warm.

It’s warm and Phil leans against the glass doors of his enclosed shower, taking a deep breath. His back is soothed by the near scalding water and he lets himself enjoy the simple pleasure. By the time he forces himself to scrub and wash off, his fingers are wrinkly and his skin is flushing red. He leans against the glass doors once again, reluctant to leave the warmth. The pressure is a little too hard and it stings if he stays in the same position for too long, but he welcomes it.

_It’s gloriously warm. He can hear children further out on the beach, but this area of the beach belongs exclusively to SHIELD and it’s just him and the masseuse. Her hands are warm on his back, pressing exactly the right positions. He smiles, eyes closed. He can hear the footsteps of someone walking towards him, but he doesn’t tense. It’s just the boy bringing the drinks._

_But then there is harsh, sudden, cold against his back and bright light in his eyes. He tenses. He can’t remember the last mission he was on, where is he? Has he been captured? Phil forces his eyes open, though they seem to be made of lead, and ends up turning them away to keep his eyes from being blinded by the surgical light. Surgical light- what’s happening? He can’t move, he can barely turn his head and that’s when he remembers Loki and the pain in his chest._

_And that’s when the pain registers. Not in his chest, but his head. His head feels like it’s going to explode, pain pulsing at random intervals and locations in his head. Dr. Streiten is in front of him. “This is wrong,” he says, and Phil sort of comprehends that he’s alive. But oh God, the pain. He doesn’t want to be alive if he has to endure another moment of this persecution._

_“Don’t! Stop,” he begs of the woman beside him._

_“Listen to him! Who ordered this?”_

_“Director Fury himself.”_

_“This is wrong!”_

_Phil can’t listen anymore, the torment in his head overwhelming any other thought. Please, let the pain stop. What does he have in his life that's worth enduring this pain? He has nothing left, he might as well die. He’s all alone, he should die. He wants to die. Why won’t they just let him die? His eyes roll to the back of his head as a particularly vicious jab of pain hits him. When his eyes stabilize, they look at the reflection on the metal, and the pain is abruptly replaced by an all consuming dread that they’re not going to give him peace. He forces himself to calm down; he needs to let them know what he wants. Director Fury himself. That’s what she said. That can’t be right. And if it is, maybe he just doesn’t know what’s happening. He wouldn’t do this to Phil. Not to his best friend. Nick wouldn’t, not if he knew._

_“Please, stop. Let me die. Please, I’m begging you.” Nick is going to help him; Phil knows that he just needs to let them know that he doesn’t want this. He knows- oh God the pain- he can’t think anymore, it’s too much so he just repeats the mantra again and again. “Please.... please let me die... please...”_

There’s a sudden crash and he shocks awake, only to slip and fall to the shower floor. There is a shaking in his bones he can’t stop, and he keeps hearing a voice, it takes him a moment to realise it’s his own, begging, “Please let me die,” and he can’t stop so he bites the insides of his cheeks until no more words come.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there shaking in the bathroom, knees folding up to his chest, but once his alarm clock starts blaring, he knows its 7 am and forces himself to stand, turn off the shower and step out. His skin is red and blotchy and everything hurts from the prolonged exposure to the heat, though the water seems to have run cold by now. Phil pats himself dry and stumbles back into the bedroom, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The alarm is still beeping until he slams a hand over it for some blessed silence.

Phil grabs the fresh pair of boxer briefs he’d set earlier on the bed and disregards the towel for it, hanging the towel on his bed frame. It’s only five minutes past seven but it isn’t like he can sleep. So he suits up and leaves, door locking automatically behind him, then heads to the mess hall in the hopes of getting a decent cup of coffee.

***

As expected, the mess is a bustling hive of early morning agents, the permanent group of operators based at the Hub mixed with the specialists and agents drinking their last cup of coffee before heading out on an assignment. Phil grabs himself a cappuccino from the machine and a newspaper from the table. He should probably get himself something to eat but he has no appetite and the breakfast buffet is making him nauseous already .This isn’t going to end well, he thinks.

He’s halfway through his coffee and on the second page of the Daily Bugle when the slam of a tray hitting his table makes him look up to see Jasper impeccably dressed in a dark navy suit, glasses in dire need of a good cleaning. Correction, two trays. “Good morning.”

“Speak for yourself. Why did I ever think a 5 am workout with Melinda was a good idea? Especially today of all days?” Jasper sits down gingerly, and slides the second tray towards Phil. At the sight of a single raised eyebrow, Jasper withdraws the last question. “No, don’t answer that. I have bruises on my bruises. And no, you’re eating that. Do we need to play the whole air plane landing thing with the spoon? Because I don’t have the patience for that shit. We have a meeting in an hour and a half that I don’t want to deal with.”

“I’m 10 years older than you, Jasper. Stop babying me. Also, if this is your idea of childcare, I fear for the lives of your hypothetical children.”Jasper just wants to help, but Phil is grown man and he can take care of himself. That being said, Phil knows Jasper is just worried, which brings on a whole new guilt trip.

“Phil, you’re one of my closest friends, so understand that I am not babying you. You, Agent Coulson, look like shit warmed over.” Jasper sighs, using the heels of his hands to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “No, wait. That’s an insult to warmed over shit actually.” Before Phil can open his mouth to defend himself, Jasper continues, “Don’t argue, you’ve made my life difficult enough. And now Mel thinks you’re not sleeping, by the way. So you have to eat something at least. Did you even get any sleep last night?”

“Not much. A couple of hours,” Phil admits. He hates that Jasper can see through his facade, misses the days when no one but Nick ever could. Phil is sitting up, his shoulders straight and legs crossed, painting a picture that is the epitome of unflappable. But this is Jasper and he can see right through it all.

Jasper sits up and leans over the table, elbows resting behind his tray of bacon and hash browns. “Phil,” he starts, eyebrows knit together in worry. “I’m here, if you need me, you know that right?”

Except Jasper can’t help. How can he, when Phil doesn't even know what's wrong?

“I’m fine, Jasper.” He doesn’t believe it himself and the look on Jasper’s face is one of exasperation and again, worry.

Jasper sits back down, favouring his right side. “All right then. Now, eat your damn hash browns.”

***

Phil had been expecting a lot from this meet-up, and to be honest, the shouting and general drama thanks to one Tony Stark was number one on his list. He’s not disappointed. It starts the moment he enters the room, though that moment is overwhelmed by 250 pounds of very blonde, very strong Norse God of Thunder who’s managed to engulf him in the tightest and most painful hug there ever was. Thor turns and glares at Jasper before sitting down in a chair that is far too small for him. That’s when Phil notices the ranting, which has been going on for a full 10 minutes now without interruption. He knows from previous experience that letting Tony get it out of his system is well worth the wait. On the other hand, it is rather uncomfortable to listen to the man rant about the number of times he made Pepper cry, and for no good reason it would seem, and how many flowers he owed the woman. Not to mention what he’s supposed to do about the Phil Coulson Memorial Park, considering he’s still alive and all. Phil forces his eyes from misting over at that last point.

When Stark starts ranting about buying SHIELD and firing Fury, he tunes out to take a moment to run his eyes over the others sitting around the table. Clint is perching atop the countertop running across the back of the room, both hands bandaged. Dr. Banner is nearest to the marksman, and at the back of the table sits Captain Rogers. To his other side, a blonde woman he recognizes at Bobbie Morse, sitting stiffly, skin pale and eyes sharp. Beside her must be Jessica Drew, legs crossed, bored expression. When Tony mentions overtaking SHIELD for the fourth time, Captain Rogers finally stands up and places a hand on the billionaire. “Tony. Tony, come on. Look at me. Let’s be adults here.”

Phil wants to roll his eyes, like that’s going to work on the overgrown man child that is Iron Man. Surprisingly, it does. Phil blinks. There’s a lot he’s missed, it would seem. “Steve, he lied to us! To me!”

“I know. Just, sit down, ok? I'll handle this." Stark nods and settles down on a chair beside Dr. Banner. Steve returns to his seat and motions for the two agents to sit.

“Agent Sitwell, do you want to start?”

“We can’t start, where the fuck is Fury?” Tony interjects.

“Director Fury won’t be joining us today,” Jasper replies, and continues, ignoring the now gawking superhero. “I don’t think I need to further explain why we’re here today. I know that some of you are very unhappy with the fact that you were misinformed about Agent Coulson’s state of well being.”

“State of well being? You let us think he was dead!” It would seem that Tony Stark is the only one inclined to speak today. Phil is fine with that, of course he is.

“Well to be clear, he was dead.” And then there’s silence. After a brief pause, Jasper goes on. “Agent Coulson died. When Director Fury told you he’d died, he didn’t lie. But some very advanced medical officers at SHIELD managed to keep him in stasis long enough for him to be revived and stabilised and operated on.” Phil is glad that Jasper is doing all the talking, because there is no way he could have given this speech without showing some form of weakness. “He underwent multiple surgeries and was put in a medical coma for almost a year before he was even able to get out of bed. We didn’t think he would make it. By the time he did, it’d been months and you were all moving forward. We didn’t think there was any point in telling you after all that time. Agent Coulson only joined us back at SHIELD five months ago.” Jasper pushes his glasses back again. “I didn’t even know myself until September.”

“You should have told us then.” It’s Steve who replies this time. “You are our liaison and handler, you have a responsibility to us as well as SHIELD. We can’t trust you if you lie to us, Sitwell.”

Phil has to intervene because they’re all blaming Jasper for this, and it isn’t fair. “Captain Rogers, Agent Sitwell is an agent of SHIELD, he has responsibilities and it is his job to keep classified information secret. This isn’t some sort of personal affront here; we’re not trying to manipulate you. We just didn’t think the information was relevant, anymore.”

“Relevant? What, you think we forgot about you? That I didn’t- that we didn’t care?” The voice comes from behind him, and he stands and turns, connecting voice to person and sees Natasha standing in front of him, fire in her eyes. There’s a Band-Aid on her forehead and a bandaged wound in her upper right arm. He’s expecting a punch, but instead is pulled into an embrace, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “You are such an asshole,” she hisses into his ears, and Phil is shocked to feel moisture against his neck. “Don’t you ever do this, ever again.” She pulls away with a kiss to his cheek and sits down next to beside him.

Steve clears his throat. “Agent Coulson. I can’t claim any sort of personal slight made against me. I’d only known you for a few hours before Director Fury told us you’d gone down. It was a tactical decision that paid off, it brought the Avengers together and I am not going to oppose that decision. This is obviously not the case with Tony, and definitely not with Clint and Natasha, but personal issues can be dealt with later. After all, there are new Avengers that have no connection to you, such as Bobbi and Jessica here. The problem isn’t that you lied to us,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony’s cry of “Yes it is!” to say, “though we as Avengers are closely affiliated with SHIELD, we are no longer a part of it, and I personally don’t want to have part with an organization that could keep a secret like this for so long from us. It leads us to believe that you were looking for ways to find leverage against us. Are we not on the same side here?”

“Captain, SHIELD is an intelligence organization. It is our job to keep secrets. We can’t apologize for not telling you something we didn’t consider of importance to you.”

“For fuck’s sake stop saying that, Coulson. This was important.” Clint finally speaks up. “I understand why you wouldn’t tell me, I was compromised-“

“Oh for the love of- Clint, stop it. This isn’t about whether he should have told you or not. This is about whether we can trust SHIELD at all,” Steve interjects. “How can we work with an organization that lies to us?”

“Indeed, I also do not feel easy working with the warriors of SHIELD, with a brother such as Agent Sitwell, and to have them lying to us,” Thor angrily adds.

“We don’t lie to you about things that are of importance. We’re not manipulating you; Jasper isn’t there to push you in the direction we want, but to give you assistance where it is needed,” Phil replies. “Yes, he lied, by omission, but he has his orders too. For the record, Jasper did not agree with the decision initially. We sat down and discussed the need for the Avengers to know and we decided, you’d moved on, why bring in a complication? This isn’t about leverage or trust, but about determining whether it was necessary. None of you, barring Agent Romanoff, even had the clearance level. None of you work for SHIELD. It wouldn’t be fair to tell Natasha and order her not to tell the rest of you.”

“But why hide it from the beginning? None of this makes any sense.” Agent Morse speaks for the first time.

Jasper sighs. “You’re going to have to ask Fury about that as we genuinely don’t know. He probably didn’t think Agent Coulson would survive, why give false hope... but we all remember what a mess New York was after the Chitauri attack. He has his reasons.”

Spider-Woman speaks up. “Fine, we get that. We all understand that secrecy is important. We don’t need you to tell us about every op that you work and every detail about SHIELD, for the sake of global security. I obviously don’t consult for SHIELD missions and then blab about them the moment I get home. But information that relates directly to us? We deserve to know about it. I will not go into operations for SHIELD, knowing that you’re not telling me everything I need to know about it.”

Phil turns to her, “I understand where you’re coming from, and when it comes to SHIELD-run operations, you can expect full disclosure from us.” It’s a white lie. “We, it seems erroneously, didn’t consider this information of importance to you.”

“Then how do we know you won’t just hide things because you don’t think they’re important. Why do you get the choice?” Phil feels the headache coming back.

“Because we work for SHIELD and we have the clearance. It’s our job to determine these things. If you want to know them yourself, join SHIELD, work for the clearance levels and we’ll give them to you. But we can’t just disclose classified information because you don’t trust our ability to determine what’s relevant and what isn’t. You can’t just bully us into giving you information because you’re superheroes. Protecting national secrets is our job, whether you’re Avengers or not doesn’t change the fact that not all of you work for SHIELD, or even have the clearance if you do.” Phil pauses. “Or you could hack us like Tony does when he gets bored, but we would appreciate it if you didn’t. We’re not hiding secrets because we can. It’s because we have to.”

Tony finally breaks out a smile, “I get that, national security and all, but we’re not all the Rising Tide here.”

“Ok, not all of us are interested in joining SHIELD, first of all. I know that in general, we do receive a lot of information from SHIELD that other consultants don’t. We appreciate that. But Jessica is right; we want full disclosure on anything related to the Avengers, directly or indirectly. Otherwise, we won’t be working with SHIELD for much longer.”

Jasper nods. “Understood. For the record, I do apologise for the deception. I will have a meeting with Director Fury about clearance levels and the Initiative. Does anyone else have anything to say?”

“Yeah, can Coulson come back to handling us now that we know he’s alive and all? I’m kind of pissed at you, Mary Poppins,” Tony jabs, but the tension clears a little.

“I am so down with that.” Jasper grins. “I could use a break from babysitting superheroes.”

“No, that’s not happening. I like my team,” Phil manages to say. “I think we’ve covered everything here? Thanks again for coming.”

“No, but really. Coulson, you put together the Initiative, you don’t want to work with us anymore? What, you found a better team to work with?” The grin on Tony’s face is a shit-eating one, but Phil knows hurt when he hears it.

“My team needs to be subtle, Tony.”

“All right. Yeah, I get it, Agent-Agent. You do your thing. Don’t pretend to be dead again, or I will seriously considering taking over SHIELD and becoming Director.”

“In which case, I quit,” Jasper interrupts and Phil can’t help but laugh.

“I’m with Jasper. I’m sure the CIA would take us.”

“Oh, come on, Coulson, you’d be bored to death within a day.” Tony smirks, but there's fondness in his eyes. Tony however, seems to be the only person loosening up at the end of this meeting. Phil isn't surprised.

“Ok, children, we’re done here. Steve, can we talk in my office?” Jasper asks. Steve nods and stands up.

“For the record, I’m glad to see you alive, Agent Coulson,” he adds before walking out the door with the agent.

“All right, I have multi-billion dollar ideas waiting to happen. I’m heading back to the tower so if anyone wants to hitch a ride. Catch you later, Agent Zombie.” Tony heads towards the door, Jessica and Bruce following. Tony stops to pat him on the back and then disappears. Clint jumps off the countertop and starts to follow the man, only to be stopped by his ex-wife.

“No. You’re coming with me,” she seethes under her breath and pulls him by the elbow, leading out the door, towards the empty meeting room on the other side of the hallway. The door slams shut behind them loud enough to send vibrations down the hallway. It’s just him and Natasha now.

“Natasha, I’m so sorry.” Phil says, staying seated but turning towards her.

“I’m not surprised with SHIELD. But I thought you were better. I thought the Strike Team meant something to you, as sentimental as you are.”

“Nat, I was gone for a year. I didn’t want to come back and mess things up. You were fine.”

“I’m always fine. People die, it’s what they do, Phil. People lie, and people die. I expect such things from SHIELD.” _But I didn’t expect it from you_ remains unspoken.

She’s angry, Phil realises, and hurt. “Natasha, I never meant to hurt you, or Clint. I just didn’t want to come back in your life when it seemed like you’d both moved on.”

“I know that. You wouldn’t intentionally hurt Clint.”

“Or you,” Phil adds, because he might be in love with Clint, but he loves Natasha just the same. “And until a couple of days ago, I thought he was happy, Nat.”

“Don't call me that. And no he was not.”

“He was doing better. Psych thought that finding out I was still alive would set him back.”

“And if you believe anything psych tells you about me or Clint, you’re a bigger idiot that I thought you were. I was there, you weren’t. So trust me when I say, he really wasn’t doing better. He needed- needs you.” Then she smirks. “And you obviously need him. Look at you, you look like you’re about to collapse any moment. How do people not notice these things?”

“People are stupid.” Phil replies automatically; it was their little inside joke. Natasha laughs and then stands up, the conversation clearly at an end. He feels compelled to add, “For what it’s worth, I’m going to do everything I can to fix things. I promise.” She grabs the notepad on the table and scribbles a number down before ripping the sheet out and pressing it in Phil's hands.

“I know you will. Just try and keep yourself alive till then. And give that dummy a call.”

Before he can reply, his phone rings, he stands up and takes the call. “Coulson.” Natasha, obviously having made her point, leans over, kisses him on the cheek (again! This is a novelty) and disappears quickly down the corridor.

“It’s May. Hand called. We have a situation. Wheels up in 30.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I promise the next chapter will be out sooner:)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers assemble. Things are looking bad for Clint, but that's not exactly news. Also, DRA-GON.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely ereshai for the beta!

“Okay, this looks bad,” is all that Clint manages to blurt out before Bobbi slams the door shut behind them, hand still holding Clint’s wrist in a deadlock. “Bobbi, I think I’m losing circulation here.”

Her expression softens along with the grip on his wrist. She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just looks at him pensively. She pulls him towards the desk until he’s leaning against it and wrapping her arms around him. “Clint Barton, you idiot.” Clint freezes, then hugs back, arms tight around her. In Bobbi's arms is one of few places Clint can let himself go.

“Do you want to talk to me about it now?”she asks after pulling away, and Clint’s mind automatically flashes to one of their many fights. Bobbi and Clint never had serious relationship talks, they had fights that usually ended with broken furniture or crockery.

It had all begun in May of last year; that was when Clint knew their marriage wasn't going to last the year. The first May after Phil, Clint had spent alone and drunk out of his mind, waking up in jail after being dragged off of Phil’s gravestone in Calverton. The second time, he was too drunk to make it to Calverton, but some kind police officer had quietly brought him back to the Avengers Mansion. Not that he remembered much of that night. From what remains, he knows this, the officer had left him with a Bobbi who had radiated of righteous fury. That night, they had fought and fucked until they could do nothing but sleep, until Clint woke up screaming for Phil. A cycle of fighting and fucking and fighting and fucking until they crashed, until they weren’t Clint-and-Bobbi anymore, until he was just Clint, and she was just Bobbi. It was inevitable, because they weren’t two sides of a coin, they were the same side. They couldn’t form a coin, no matter how hard they twisted and turned and melted and burned.

Clint zones back in and realises that Bobbi is glaring at him expectantly. “What do you want to know, Bobbi? He was my handler, I got him killed-”

She slaps him. Hard.

“Cut it out with the pity party, Barton. I don’t have the time or energy for this.” Clint doesn’t respond. She was just a kid in the academy when the Chitauri had attacked; what did she know? Bobbi lifts herself onto the table, sitting beside him, hands twitching in her lap. “Remember those first few months, Clint? That winter and you and me against Crossfire? We were happy, weren’t we?”

Clint remembers that Bobbi made him smile and sometimes forget because that is how amazing she is. He remembers drowning in her blue eyes (sea blue not sapphire blue) and getting more than six hours of sleep. “I guess we were happy there, birdie.”

“Then tell me what happened, Clint? Why did it all fall apart last year?” Because marrying someone after knowing them for nine days is a dumb idea and Clint should have known better, but he never does. Clint Barton is the crowned king of dumb ideas.

Why? Because he had accidently replayed an old voicemail and it had taken him too long to recognize the voice as Phil’s. Because Phil had only been dead for two years and Clint was starting to forget and he couldn’t live with himself for that. Clint was moving on and he had no right to. Because you can only hide from your nightmares for so long before they find you.

Clint sighs. He owes her at least an explanation but he doesn’t know how or where to start. Grillz was right after all, maybe a letter would be better. Then again, he was pretty shit at writing too. He’d never had to explain anything to Natasha, she usually knew things before he did… and this is difficult. He wishes Bobbi would say something, and when she does, he wishes she hadn’t. “Were the two of you together or something?”

“No! I was just one of his assets. That’s all I was.”

Clint wears his heart on his sleeve and he knows Bobbi knows. Bobbi actually made it through the Academy with top marks, she's the super spy. She raises a single blonde eyebrow and asks, “And what was he to you?”

The answer has been given multiple times, a name torn out of his throat in the wake of his nightmares and forced out of his lips in moments of absolute rapture. He shouldn’t have to say it because she knows. He can’t say it out loud, it’s a secret he has hidden for so long he doesn’t have the words or the strength to say them aloud. Oh boy, this was a massively bad idea. He should have run faster before she’d grabbed him. “You already know,” he answers as he pushes off the table and starts to walk away. “This isn’t your problem, Bobbi. I’m fucked up and I made you carry something that wasn’t yours in the first damn place. Just let it go.”

“Did you ever even love me?”

Clint's not sure if the dizziness is from spinning back to face her so fast or from the question itself.

“What the fuck, Bobbi? What kind of a question is that?” Clint feels like he’s been slapped in the face. Scratch that, he's been slapped in the face, this is worse.

“Well, did you? Because I’m starting to feel like all you did was use me to deal with this Coulson guy’s death!”

“Bobbi!”

“Give me an actual answer here!”

“Of course I loved you!” How could he not? She’d been right there, bright like the sun and dragging him out of that pit of darkness and misery. Until he’d opened his eyes and realized he was never going to be worth her, that he would probably get her killed as well.

“And him?”

“Aww, Bobbi, leave me alone.” He can’t tell her this. Not when he can’t even say it out loud to himself. He turns back again and walks towards the doors but is once again stopped by a hand on his wrist.

“I’m sorry. That was an unfair question.” Bobbi says softly. “I'm just worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m not your responsibility anymore.” He turns his head back and tries to smile at her, but it must not be very convincing because her eyebrows remain pinched together. But she reaches some sort of understanding because her face relaxes.

“Hey, dummy, I’m not in love with you anymore, but I do love you. That means I’m allowed to worry about you.”She pulls him forward and kisses him on the cheek, only for both of them to jump apart in surprise as their Avenger identicards begin to beep.

“Oooh, look. Time to avenge stuff.”

***

So apparently Amora had released a dragon who’d been gnawing at Yggdrasil for a very long time or something. And refused to get him under control until Thor left Jane and married her and they lived happily ever after in Asgard or some shit. Unfortunately for the Enchantress, the plan clearly hadn’t worked out so well as said fire-breather didn’t like being told what to do all that much, and she had teleported away along with the Executioner.

By the time the Avengers arrived the dragon had managed to set fire to a rather large portion of New York City from above.

“Ok, guys, not that dragons aren’t awesome or anything, but how do we kill Smaug?” Iron Man asks while circling the beast, firing repulsing blasts to no avail.

“Nay, friend Tony! We cannot kill Níðhöggr, he is of death itself! He is needed at the roots of Yggdrasil for the sake of the 9 realms!” Thor shouts into the comms, and for once everyone is glad for that booming quality of his voice, all other noise being drowned out by the torrential rain that God of Thunder has brought in the hope of quenching the fires set by the, oh that's right, DRA-GON.

(Clint's taken to saying it like Mushu. Because... dragons.)

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of all the dragons they had to fight, it had to be the one on whose existence the nine realms depended. Clint's doing everything he can to keep the jet airborne while Natasha fires one blast after the other, not that any of them are doing any good. The Hulk is playing rodeo with the obsidian dragon.

Then Níðhöggr gives a particularly wild buck, sending the green giant flying into the distance, and Tony’s laughter rings throughout the comms. Steve is on the ground organizing evacuation with the ground forces, along with Jessica and Bobbi, who are dealing with civilians. Jessica and her creepy pheromone powers did have their use in calming people down, that’s for sure.

“Avengers, can you maybe work on dealing with the mythical beast a little more quickly? The mayor’s already on the phone with Fury.” Sitwell is on the line from the Helicarrier, and Clint fights the ever increasing urge to murder Mr. Mayor.

“Oh sorry, Mr. Mayor, for the damage caused by the fire breathing amphibian. Next time, he can call Bilbo, I'm moving to the west coast. West Coast Avengers, how about that?"

“Technically, dragons are closer to reptilians,” Bobbi interrupts.

“Technically, they should be mythical, and not part of any phylogeny!” Tony manages to retort but Bobbi’s laugh is cut short by an inferno that sends him flying into Oscorp.

“Iron Man! Are you alright?” Sitwell demands.

No response.

“Tony!” Cap shouts.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, cool your jets. The suit’s just sort of... partially melted. Damn, that’s some Fiendfyre all right. I’m out, I could use an extraction though.”

“Spider-Man is on his way, Tony, sit tight,” Jasper answers.

Clint steers the jet until Natasha has a clear shot to its soft underbelly, but before she can strike, Níðhöggr soars into the clouds.

“Not much else I can do, Voldemort,” Tony retorts. Clint can practically hear Jasper rethinking the decision to send extraction as he starts calibrating to read for heat signatures.

And then it’s left to Thor, who’s rather focused on keeping the skies precipitating, and two humans in a jet left to stop the serpent. Correction, one distracted demi-god, a Red Room super soldier, and one completely powerless human.

“Ok. Here’s the plan of action. Hawkeye, get his attention, and get him away from the city. There’s no point to all this rain if the thing just sets more things on fire in spite of it,” The Captain orders.

“You turning me into bait, Cap? And here I thought you loved me.”

“There's always Kate, though I’ll miss you terribly, Hawkeye.”

“My heart’s bleeding for you, especially considering everyone seems to have forgotten that I’m in here, too. Now can we save the city?” Natasha interjects, simultaneously tracking the dragon’s heat signature and shooting into the clouds. There’s a moment of silence, and then a roar and then the sky is on fire. “We’ve got its attention. Punch it, Hawkeye.” And no sooner does he accelerate ,heading northeast, that the proximity alarms go off. “Faster! Faster would be better!”The Quinjet speeds up, but soon, it becomes obvious that the beast is losing interest, and of course it’s before they reach the coast. It turns towards a light house and Natasha shouts into the headset, “Slow down, we’re losing him!”

“Hey, Nat, make up your mind maybe?” he shoots back with a grin on his face, because... dragons. She glares and then fires at the massive creature, and oh, there we go again. “Hey, Cap. How’s the city? What exactly is part two of this plan of yours?” he asks over his comm. unit.

“Thor’s on his way, sport.” Clint turns and mouths ‘sport?’ at Natasha, who grins. “Fires are out, he’ll have Heimdall open a portal. Just try to keep Nid-what's-his-face in one place so Heimdall can get a fix on him.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?”

“Two founding Avengers and you can’t put one overgrown lizard in time out?” And it would seem Bruce had awakened and joined the others again.

“Bruce!” Clint calls out while swerving the jet to dodge a blast of fire, ignoring Natasha’s annoyed growl as her head crashes into the headrest. “Thanks for all your help, Mister-I’m-The-Strongest-There-Is,” which is Clint’s weird, roundabout way of asking if Bruce is okay.

“Well, you know how it is, passing out in the Baxter building and shocking the Richards children is always a classic.” This is why Clint loves Bruce. He gets everyone. The kids, though ridiculously smart and open minded, tend to be children in that they’re bound to become terrified if a giant green monster comes crashing into their living room. And Hulk knew that. This is why Clint loves Hulk.

“Hey, by the way, do you have any of those fast acting Hulk tranquilizers?”

“A couple, why?”

“Knock him out by the beach, if you can?”

“Ohh! I knew I kept you around for a reason!” Clint crows and steers towards the beach. The tranquilizers were potent, to put it mildly. They knocked out the Hulk within seconds, so…“Nat, take over.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Please promise me you won’t destroy my baby.”

“Bitch, please.”

And that’s how Clint finds himself precariously balanced on the opened transport door with two tranq arrows aimed at the dragon’s head, while Natasha speeds towards a stranded area of the beach. Not that there were that many people around anyway, it’s February. The dragon looks like a terrible, angry, toothy version of Toothless, and Clint almost has a hard time shooting it. Until it opens its mouth and breathes out white fire tinged with blue.

Okay, this does look bad.

This is it. He’s got the one shot. “I got him.” He hums without thinking into his comm. as he angles his weapon slightly upwards, shooting both tranq arrows. The curve is a perfect parabola, narrowly missing the fire and hitting the dragon square between its eyes. Except the fire is close now and Clint knows he’s got two choices, jump or turn into a sticky puddle of an Avenger and the already melting transport door.

He jumps.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Action scenes! I've never done this properly so do let me know how I can improve, I would appreciate it loads! Also, I know this chapter is shorter... I have issues and can't figure out how to make evenly sized chapters... sorry! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil gets his team to help out a friend in Westchester and learns something important about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the ever amazing ereshai for her lovely beta on this. And to Max72, who I remember was my awesome cheerleader while I was moaning about this back in March, I love you! 
> 
> **Trigger Warnings:** Canon typical violence, injury to a child and child endangerment.

“Yesterday, we received a call from Professor Charles Xavier asking for our assistance. This is Katherine Pryde,” Phil tells his team while pointing to the blown up image on the holotable. They’re en route, the plane is on autopilot and the whole team is assembled for a briefing. “She’s thirteen years old, and lives in Deerfield, Illinois with her parents,” he continues.

“Woah, woah, woah, our target is a little girl from Illinois?” Skye asks suspiciously. “She’s just a kid. And who’s Professor Xavier?” FitzSimmons turn to each other with identical looks of uneasiness, and Ward almost looks nervous. Melinda remains silent, choosing instead to level Phil with a look that is equal parts boredom and aggravation.

“It’s all right, everyone. I have special clearance for Skye. Without it, we can’t complete this mission.” He waits for everyone to nod before continuing. “Skye, what I am about to tell you is classified to clearance level 5. You cannot divulge this information to anyone. It is of utmost importance, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Top secret. I get it.” She grins at him.

“This is no laughing matter, Skye. If this information hits the public, we would be putting a lot of people in danger.” He stares at her, waiting for her to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Oh, wow. Um, yeah, no, I get it,” she replies, looking slightly chastised.

“Professor Xavier is an expert in genetics and biophysics, particularly in the genetic mutation of what he calls the X-gene. Fitz and Simmons understand the science of it better than I do, but the presence, or activationof an X-gene results in an individual developing gifts, or mutant abilities, when they reach puberty.”

Simmons’ face lights up and she takes a deep breath before gushing, “It’s rather fascinating actually, the development of the X-gene can be considered the next step to human evolution. But no one understands the entire science of it as well as Professor Xavier, who has extensively studied many cases of this so-called mutant gene. He even went to Oxford, just like me!”

“He also has vast psionic powers, and is possibly the greatest telepath on the planet.” Phil feels important to add, and watches as Skye’s eyes widen almost comically.

“But you said that telepaths don’t exist!”

“I lied.” Phil smirks. “The Professor has a boarding school in Westchester called The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, where young people can learn to control their mutant abilities, and SHIELD is the only governmental agency aware of this fact. They’re just children, and that is why it is vital that their secret and safety be of utmost importance. We cannot expose the world-“

“To the fact that people are born with mutant powers? How does the world not know? I mean, wouldn’t it be obvious when your kids start getting super powers?” Skye interrupts.

“That is the very reason the school exists, Skye,” Phil answers her. “Professor Xavier has a method of tracking the development of new mutant powers. He usually finds them before they wreak too much havoc and has a talk with their parents or guardians. The school has been in existence for years now, and has taken care of many people with mutant abilities, helping them control and hide their powers.”

“But why hide them? Superheroes exist, why not mutants?” she interrupts again.

Phil sighs. He’s trying to help out an old friend, not start a discussion about intelligence gathering and censorship. “Skye, humans still can’t get over skin colour. Do you really think people would be so accepting of people who are even more different?”

“But look at the Avengers-”

“The Avengers formed purely to protect the Earth. They are not a separate race, and their existence does not mean the next step to human evolution. I mean, if you think about it, the origination of _Homo sapiens_ directly resulted in the extinction of _Homo neanderthalensis._ The existence of mutants, that is, _Homo superior_ , could lead to the extinction of the human race! It’s rather marvelous!” Simmons pauses and takes in the strange looks her team mates are giving her. “But also unlikely, and highly debated.”

“So you’re saying that they’re a threat,” Grant says.

“No, of course not. I believe both species can exist in harmony-“

“Are you joking? If they could wipe us out-“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fitz, it's not like it's instantaneous, it might even take millions of years-“

“Whatever the case, mutants are humans, and that means they’re our responsibility. If we could all focus on the briefing now,” Phil says, forcing his exasperation down. Phil most definitely did not want an argument on technically non-existent mutant politics. Inhuman politics were difficult enough to deal with, what with Attilan floating above New York these days. “The Professor discovered that Miss Pryde recently developed the ability to phase through solid objects. He initially wanted to visit her and her parents, but was urgently needed in London. His deputy, Ms. Ororo Munroe, also one-time Avenger Storm, has asked for SHIELD assistance as she cannot leave her post at the moment.”

He motions for Fitz to change the hologram and a CCTV recording begins playing.

“Last night,” Phil speaks over the silent video, “Miss Pryde and her parents went out for family dinner. Her abilities manifested within the car, and resulted in her being phased out into on-coming traffic.” They watch as the car turns, and what looks like a ghost flies through the side of the car, through a traffic light pole and right in front of another car. The girl brings her hands up to her face in defense, and the second car phases right through her, only to crash into a nearby tree. “It would seem that her powers disrupt electronics and the like.” Phil notes. The adolescent begins to run, heading into a nearby alley and onwards out and away from the view of the camera. “Further CCTV cameras have located her as far the Potawatomi woods. Our mission objective is to find her before she hurts herself or anyone else, and bring her, with her parents’ permission, to Westchester.”

“FitzSimmons, I need you to see if there’s anyway to keep her powers in check, or discover what might have triggered them. Read through the files on the X-gene. I didn’t understand all of it, but I’m sure you will.” Phil fishes out a card from his pocket. “This is the telephone number of Dr. Hank McCoy, who you may know as the Avenger Beast, is another teacher at Xavier’s. Ms. Munroe said he’d be better help than her. I will not take the risk of having her on the Bus if she could accidentally phase through something and send us all into the ground, or worse, phase through 30,000 feet of air into solid ground.” Simmons takes the card. “Ward, you’ll be in the field. Take Skye. I think talking to someone closer to her age might be of help. May, you and I will interview her parents and talk to the police in charge of the investigation.”

“Are they searching for her?” Melinda asks.

“Yes, they’re trying to use her phone to locate her, but they don’t know her password. It won’t take long to override them, but once the phone runs out of battery, we’re out of luck. Any other questions?”

“What kind of phone is it? Because StarkPhones have GPS on a separate battery, we might be able to find it even if the main battery is dead,” Skye adds.

“Good idea, we’ll ask her parents. She doesn’t have a lot of cash, and she didn’t have any cards, she really shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

“If it’s so easy, why are we on the case? Aren’t we a specialized task force?” Ward interjects.

“Yes, but it’s the powers that worry us. We want this quiet, we want containment. And we have more experience with this sort of situation that any other team does,” he answers, then turns to the rest of the team. “I want everyone to read their mission packets carefully. Skye, start trying to locate her as soon as you can. Everyone, thank you for your time, you’re all dismissed.”

***

By the time they land in Deerfield, it’s two in the afternoon. When the field team leaves FitzSimmons, Gemma is excitedly talking on the phone with Dr. McCoy and Leo is drawing complex diagrams using the holotable. Skye and Ward leave for Potawatomi woods, with Skye in the back running tracing algorithms to find the phone. Phil and Melinda take Lola, even though the snow and slush splattering against his precious baby make him wince. Water is seeping through his shoes, which speaks moreabout the amount of snow in the area rather than the quality of his footwear. There are salt lines drying at the bottom of his slacks.

Needless to say, he’s not happy about the situation. Hopefully, it makes him look less like a government spook and more approachable. Besides, he’s letting Melinda take the lead on this one. Mel is driving for a change, because Phil hasn’t had a solid eight hours of sleep in at least a week and doesn’t want to risk anything in this weather. He’ll function if he has to; he’s run missions with less, but he’d still rather not take a gamble, not with Melinda’s life on the line as well. Considering that he nodded off for a few seconds at least three times during the short drive, he knows he made the right choice.

They arrive at the house within a half hour to find a police car parked in front of the small brick house. “I hate doing this to cops,” Phil turns to Melinda to say. His own father had been in the police force, and he understands how frustrating it is to have cases wrangled out of your hands because of jurisdiction.

Melinda doesn’t say anything, which is fine. She’s in a light blue woollen dress and heels, wrapped up in a dark gray wool coat. Somehow, she’s managed to stay dry. She looks so soft, and Phil remembers days of old, lazy evenings with friends at the bar and poker nights. He hasn’t said anything to Ward, but he is noticing a difference in Melinda that he hasn’t since Bahrain. It’s a relief.

They ring the doorbell and are met by a short, petite woman with mousy brown hair and chestnut eyes. They both pull out their badges. “Good afternoon. My name is Agent May, this is Agent Coulson, with SHIELD. Could we come in?”

The woman stares at him, then at Melinda, and back to him again. “I’m really sorry, but this is terrible time.”

“We know, and we’re very sorry. We know about your daughter being missing, we’re here to help,” Melinda answers calmly.

The woman offers her hand to both of them one after the other. “Rachel Pryde. Please come in.” She leads them both into the living room, where a man in slacks and a rather wrinkled button up shirt is pacing; a police officer is talking to him.

“Excuse me, Detective Patel?” Rachel interrupts, and the woman turns towards them. “They said they’re from SHIELD?” Phil catches Patel forcing her eyes not to roll before walking towards them.

“Detective Patel, Deerfield Police Department. Can I help you?” she asks as she offers them each a handshake.

They introduce themselves and Phil hands over their transfer request. “We just want to find Miss Pryde. I apologize for the inconvenience, but we’ll be taking over the investigation now.”

“And why is that?I didn’t realize car accidents fell into SHIELD jurisdiction,” Patel enquires as she runs her eyes down the transfer forms.

“I’m afraid that’s classified. We're happy to send you a report once the case has been closed. For now, we need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Pryde,” Melinda replies.

The three of them turn to look up the stairs when they hear a creak from the floor above. “Is someone else in the house with you?” Patel asks. Rachel tells her it’s just the cat. Patel turns to the SHIELD agents and says, “Well, I hope you find that little girl, agents. Do let us know if you need anything.” She turns back to the Prydes. “I’m handing this investigation over to SHIELD. But not to worry, you’re in capable hands.”

“But what’s wrong with our own police?” the man asks, still pacing.

“I’m sorry, it’s SHIELD.” Patel answers with a shrug and a quick roll of the eyes that Phil almost misses. “It’s not my jurisdiction anymore.”

After she leaves, further introductions to Mr. Carmen Pryde are made, and then Melinda proceeds to better explain the situation to them. Phil listens with one ear, taking in the room. The living room is small, though the windows are large, but the blinds have been shut in every room so far as he can see. The room is filled with trophies and awards with Katherine’s name on them.

“So you’re telling me my kid’s some sort of a freak? No, the video was obviously messed with. You can’t phase through solid objects, lady!” Pryde’s face is turning an alarming shade of red as he leans forward in his seat towards Melinda and Phil. “That’s crazy talk! I thought you were here to help us find our daughter! We don’t need this crap! If you don’t have a warrant, you can get the hell out of my house!”

“Mr. Pryde, your daughter is not a freak, she is gifted, and not just in terms of I.Q.,” Phil cuts in, trying to calm the irate man down. “We only want to keep her safe.”

“Then stop trying to teach us pseudo-science and help us find our Kitty!” Rachel snaps, her face quickly softening after. “I’m sorry, agents. I don’t mean to be rude. We’re just very worried about our girl. We really don’t know anything else, I think it would be more useful to search out there than in here.”

“And that is most understandable. We just want to find her before she hurts herself or someone else,” Melinda replies, voice ever so calm. Her increasing annoyance is only obvious to Phil by the flaring of her nose, the parents far too nervous to realise they’re angering one person they really _, really,_ don’t want to anger.

“She didn’t hurt anyone!” Carmen stands up, roaring. “You can’t just take her away for something she never did!”

And that’s when a girl falls screaming through the ceiling, only to disappear into the ground below. Lovely. Why does this sort of stuff only ever happen to him? The Prydes run down the stairs into the basement and Phil and Melinda follow hot on their trails.

“Sir, I think now may be a good time to confess to you that I hate civilians,” Melinda mutters behind him.

“What a surprise,” he whispers back as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “I have to be honest, your last confession was a lot more gossip worthy.” And then all of their attention is directed to a crying Katherine Pryde, sitting amidst the remains of a glass table in what looks like a den, clearly nursing a broken arm. Melinda rushes forward, pushing away the two clearly useless adults and Phil follows, shrugging out of his jacket to place over the glass, slicing part of his finger in the process.

“We only wanted to keep her safe.” Rachel says from behind them, voice wavering.

“And what a fine job you’ve done of that,” Melinda retorts before placing a hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “Kitty, I’m Melinda. This is Phil, and we’re going to get you out of that glass, ok?”

“I can’t walk,” Kitty manages to say before hiccupping. A quick look at her feet explains the situation. There are rather nasty shards of glass stuck on her bare feet.

“That’s okay,” Phil tells her. “I’ll carry you out, okay, Kitty? We just need to put your arm in a sling so we don’t do it anymore damage, alright?” Melinda pulls off her sweater and wrapping it around the girl to create a makeshift sling, before stepping back and letting Phil gingerly pick up the girl. Most of the glass seems to have only hurt her feet and legs, the rest of her petite form thankfully protected by her clothes. She’s no longer crying, focusing on Melinda and getting out of the glass.

Phil’s pretty impressed.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit,” Melinda says before running back up the stairs. Phil shoots the parents a glare that used to send even Maria Hill running, and they move out of his way so he can carry Kitty up the stairs.

As soon as he settles her on the couch, Melinda returns with the first aid kit. She turns to the parents. “I can help her. You people are idiots, but you’re still her parents so this is me asking for permission. May I help her?”

The couple look at each other before Carmen nods.

It takes some time, but Kitty calms down after Melinda injects a local anaesthetic into both feet as well subcutaneous morphine for her broken arm. Clad in sterile gloves, Phil hands Melinda whatever she needs as she removesshards of glass from her feet, explaining everything she’s doing as she’s doing it. At last, the painful work is done. Two of the worse cuts had needed stitches, and Phil is so glad for R&D and their special gels. He’s had to stomach worse things, but stitching up a 13 year old isn’t something he ever wants to see again, let alone get used to. For the hundredth time in his life, he's glad he ignored his mother's wish that he become a paediatrician like her.

Once the bandages are secure, Melinda turns to Phil and holds out her hand. Right, time to deal with his own injury. He pulls off the gloves and finds that his finger barely bleeding, especially considering the depth of the cut. But Phil has no time to focus on that anomaly at the moment because the worried parents are becoming less worried and more angry. “I told you to stay quiet, and not to do that thing anymore!” Carmen yells at his daughter, standing a few feet away from her.

“Dad, I’m so sorry, it just happened!”

“Do you even know what you’ve done? Now we’ve got government spooks who’ll take you away!”

Phil has had more than enough. He didn’t come here to deal with neurotic parents, and the lack of sleep is starting to get to him in ways it never had before.“Mr. Pryde, what exactly were you thinking in the first place, that you could just lock up your daughter until she learned to control her powers?”

“We’re just trying to protect her!” Rachel defends. Phil looks at Kitty’s feet and then back at her parents, needing no words to communicate what he thought of their unimpressive attempt at keeping their daughter safe. He stands up and faces Mr. Pryde, looking him straight in the eye.

“We are all going to have an honest conversation, like adults, but before we do, we need to have Miss Pryde’s arm taken care of.”

“But we can’t just take her to the hospital, what if she does...” Carmen flinches before continuing his sentence, “...that thing... again?”

“What if you all stopped talking about me like I’m not right here?” Kitty finally speaks before turning to him and Melinda. “And no offense, but who are you people anyway? You’re not law enforcement, right? I saw Detective Patel leave.”

It occurs to Phil that in the chaos between her falling into the basement and them taking care of her wounds, she still had no idea who they were. “My apologies, Miss Pryde,” He answers as he pulls off his gloves and dumps them in the plastic bag filled with used medical equipment. “We’re with SHIELD.”

“SHIELD? Like the people with the Helicarrier flying over New York City?” she asks.

“Yes, that’s us. We’re here on behalf of Professor Xavier. There’s a lot we need to talk about, along with your parents. But first we’d like to take you to our base, where there’s someone who can treat your arm.” He turns to Melinda, “Could you call the others and tell them to meet us back at the Bus?”

Melinda stands up, grabs her phone and begins dialing.

“You can’t just take her away, we’re her parents!” Carmen begins shouting again, his wife cowering behind him. Melinda rolls her eyes and stalks away, phone against her ear.

And now Phil’s just had it. He hates doing this in front of kids, but right now he’s a lot more worried about the broken arm than anything else. In the back of his mind, he can hear a voice telling him to calm down, but he’s exhausted and his patience is wearing thin. If only they had the equipment they could just fix the arm here, but they need to be back in the infirmary, and he doesn’t have the time for delays. “Mr. Pryde. So far, you’ve delayed a police investigation, lied to government officers and SHIELD agents, and put your daughter in grave danger. All it would take is one phone call to social services before they took her away from you for child endangerment.”

The parents pale at that, and Kitty gasps. “You can’t do that! They weren’t trying to hurt me!”

“I’m more than aware of that, Kitty. I don’t want to forcefully take you away but,” Phil pauses and turns to the parents again. “I need the two of you to cooperate for your daughter’s sake.”

The parents nod simultaneously. Melinda comes back right at that moment. “Sir, we should go.”

He nods to her and addresses the Prydes again. “Please get yourselves ready, we’ll be leaving in a few minutes.” He turns back to Kitty, sitting beside her on the couch to put himself on her level. “Listen, Kitty, we want to take you with the car, but first, we need to find some way for you to not phase through the car;that could be risky. Can you think of any similarities between all the times you phased so far? Let’s see if we can find a trigger, alright?” He really wishes he had Skye with them at this point, but he has to make do, and between him and Melinda, he thinks he might actually be the better choice. He needs to make a note to send someone with Melinda, like Skye, when he’s not around.

“Um. The first time, Lance locked me in a locker in school...” she starts quietly, looking at her lap. “I got really scared and the next thing I knew, I was outside the locker. Then it happened in the car and then again right now.”

“Well, when did you start phasing inside the car?” he prompts again.

“Dad was arguing with mom about something, and um.” She pointedly refuses to look at him before adding, “He was yelling.”

“Like a few minutes ago?” he asks, an idea forming in his head.

“Yeah...”

“It must have been scary, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Kitty,” Phil says, careful not to intrude too much in her personal space, “I think that you lose control whenever you get scared. So if you could try to stay calm, we might be ok. Just until we get to our infirmary, alright? We just need you to stay calm. Would you prefer to go to sleep?”

“No! Um, I phased once from my bed onto the living room couch when I was asleep...”She explains, her free hand coming up automatically in defense. "Alright, I’ll try,” she says, finally looking up at him determinedly.

They make it to the Bus with no incidents; Phil, Rachel and Kitty are in Lola, with Melinda and Carmen following behind them. Another argument had been thwarted by a Melinda Death Glare TM. In no time at all, Simmons has the arm patched up, though initially having difficulties laying a IV because Kitty keeps phasing through the needle. After finally setting the line, only to have Kitty phase right through it and land on the ground under the bus, Simmons gives up and gives her antibiotic tablets instead.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, sir,” she informs him after she walks out of the lab where Kitty is now resting, parents sitting beside her.

“Good job, Simmons. Did you manage to call Dr. McCoy or determine the science behind her ability, by any chance?”

Simmons winces. “Right. About that, sir.” She looks up and shouts, “Fitz! Where are you?” before looking back at him and smiling that smile of hers that gives Phil stress ulcers.

“What is it?” Fitz shouts from below the deck where he's repairing the equipment that Kitty phased through.

“I need help explaining spintronics, so could you come down please?”

“Alright, alright, I’m on my way.” he shouts back before clambering up the ladder to where Simmons and Phil are.

“Agent Coulson, sir.” He stops in front of Phil, tablet in hand. “Alright, we were talking to Hank, the man’s a bloody brilliant scientist by the way, and we’ve hypothesized that Kitty’s ability can potentially be explained by spintronics.”

“Which is...?” Phil asks, almost not wanting to know. He thinks it’s time he takes a couple of science courses at the academy just to understand what in the world these two talk about. Maybe there should be general science courses offered to operatives these days, considering the increasing frequency of these events happening to SHIELD officers.

“Basically,” Fitz continues, “spintronics is a theory based on electrostatic repulsion, the force that keeps subatomic objects from passing through each other.”

“What.”

Simmons rolls her eyes and places a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “Let me try, I understood this less than you, so I might explain it better.” She turns to Phil. “Sir, electrons naturally repel each other. Just like protons and electrons attract and protons and protons repel, these are just constants in matter. Now, you were probably taught in school that this is because of charge, right?"

"Yes, like charges repel each other."

"Yes, well sir. It's a bit more complicated than that. Electrons have an intrinsic property called spin, with two possibilities, up or down. This is where it gets complicated. Free electrons, that is, electrons without atoms, are singularities, they occupy no space. However, electrons orbiting an atomic nucleus cease to be singularities-"

"Basically, they become wave functions oscillating around the positive charge of the nucleus." Fitz adds.

"Waves?" Phil questions.

"Of course, just like photons. It's the wave particle duality of subatomic particles, sir, rather fasci-"

"Yes dear," she waves him off. "Basically, when electrons become part of an atom, they pair up with another electron of the opposite spin. If Kitty rearranges the spin of electrons into an organized manner so they’re polarized with the spin of all the electrons around her, her molecules will seem to pass through the objects, sir. This explains why the other car stopped working, if she phased through it, she could have drastically changed the conducting forces in the circuitry...”

“So she's passing through molecules."

"No! She's passing through the empty space within molecules by arranging the spin of electrons."

"Right. Thank you. I’m going to pretend I understood that, and ask you what that means in terms of controlling her ability while we’re flying.”

"Well sir," Simmons begins, tugging at the hem of her blouse, “Any material we could use to isolate her would simply result in her phasing out of it because everything is made of molecules, sir.”

“So, you’re telling me that there’s no way to contain her while we’re in the air.”

“Yes, sir.” They simultaneously answer, staring at their shoes.

“Well,” Fitz contemplates. “I supposed we could always assume her powers work differently with antimatter seeing as antiparticles have different properties-“

“Do we have antimatter?”

“Goodness no! Imagine the damage they could do if they collide with matter!" Fitz exclaims.

Phil sighs and brings a hand up to his forehead. “Well, she can control her ability to a certain extent as long as she stays calm, but I don’t know if she can keep calm for two and a half hours. On the other hand, the safest thing to do would be to bring her to Westchester as soon as possible. I need to talk to the parents again. Thanks for your hard work. You’re dismissed.”

Phil heads to his office and calls Ororo. “Xavier Institute for Higher Learning.Vice Principal Munroe speaking.”

“Ororo, it’s me, Phil.”

“Phil! How are things? Did you collect Miss Pryde yet?” she asks. Phil can hear children in the background.

“It’s a bit of a sticky situation, she’s hurt herself, and her parents are being rather... unhelpful.”

“Parents _can_ be difficult. The stories I could tell you," Ororo sighs. I would appreciate appreciate if you could fly them over for a couple of days, just so she and her parents can see the school first-hand. We can send them home afterward- BOBBY unfreeze the fountain this minute, young man! Jubilation Lee! That is an antique- Phil, I must go.”

“Of course, I’ll send you arrival details as soon as I can. See you soon,” Phil replies and hangs up. He loosens his tie and pulls it over his head, quickly changing out of his blood and glass covered clothes. He swiftly dons a dark grey suit, white shirt and deep aubergine tie, a five year old birthday present from Clint that he rarely wears for work, afraid he’ll ruin it one of these days. Unfortunately, he’s running out of fresh clothes and has few other choices. There is the disgustingly bright yellow tie that Jimmy brought for him as a joke three years ago, but he has too much dignity to wear that. Ever.

He strides back to the common area, where Mel is sitting on the couch in uniform, rereading what looks like reports from Westchester on the SHIELD database. “How soon can we take off?” he asks.

“As soon as you give the order.” This is why he picked Melinda. Well, also because he loves her and she needed a change, but she’s a damn good pilot and SHIELD probably has her in the manual next to the word efficient.

“Good. I’ll give you the all-clear as soon as I can.”

She stands up, tablet in hand and heads towards the cockpit. “I’ll be waiting for your orders then, sir.”

“Thank you,” he calls after her as he goes down to the lab.

And here we go again, Phil thinks wryly to himself before opening up the doors to the lab.

***

They make it to Westchester with no trouble, Skye and Simmons distracting Kitty with Doctor Who to calm her down. Except for the ten minutes that Simmons argued against watching some episode. Apparently blinking is not at all a good thing. Phil needs to catch up on the rebooted series one of these days. The thought nearly makes him double over in laughter. Who’s he kidding, he doesn’t have that kind of time; he already had an entire season of Dog Cop s to catch up as it is. Phil spends the entire trip organizing cover stories for the Pryde family for school and work.

They touchdown late in the evening in the fields behind the Institute just as the Blackbird flies into the waterfall nearby. Ororo meets them along with a teenager with hair a shade Phil privately thinks of as Romanoff red. She introduces herself as Jean Grey. It turns out Jean has telekinetic abilities, and keeps Kitty in the air so Phil doesn’t have to carry her to the mansion. The other children are all asleep, so they are met in the common room by Professor Xavier, a man Phil recognizes as ex-CIA Agent Moira McTaggert, Dr. McCoy (who Phil has only met once when he came to visit here nearly ten years ago) and Logan, the Wolverine. After introductions, Jean takes the Pryde family to guest rooms, promising them time for everything tomorrow.

“Thank you so much for your help, Agent Coulson, Agent May. Moira and I were in London and just made it back.” The others had to wait in the Bus for clearance reasons, so it was only Phil and Melinda who’d made it to the mansion.

“Yes, we saw the Blackbird landing,” Phil replies. “She’s a beauty.”

“So you’re Coulson?” Logan grunts at him. “Clint’s told me about you. Prime example of a SHIELD agent, eh? You stay the fuck away from me if ya know what’s good for ya, bub” he growls before piercing an apple from the fruit bowl on the coffee table with his claws and stalking away. Phil isn’t scared as much as amazed by the friends that Clint’s made in the years without him. It hurts a bit to be reminded of all he's missed, but he smothers the pain, knowing he should be happy his friend moved on at least in some ways.

“Sorry about Logan, he’s a bit...rough around the edges.” Charles apologizes.

“Clint’s a pain, but he is dear to us, and Logan’s protective even if he doesn’t like showing it,” Hank explains with a shrug before wishing him good night. Phil is at once relieved. Clint had always had a hard time finding friends at SHIELD. Being surrounded by individuals as exceptional as he is seems to have helped.

“I have some documentation to hand over and discuss, shall we head to your office?” Phil asks Charles. “Ororo, can I leave you with my right hand for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” Ororo replies with a grin, and turns to Melinda. “Shall we go visit your niece? It's past lights out, but I really doubt Jubilee is asleep by now.”

“I had something I was going to ask you to pass over to her, but this is better,” Melinda replies. “After you, please.”

They leave the common room, and Phil is left alone with his friend.

“Can I get you something to drink, a brandy maybe?” Xavier offers as he leads Phil to his office.

“No, thank you, Charles,” he declines, taking the seat that’s offered to him. Once Xavier rolls over to face him across the desk Phil hands over the documents. “The parents are rather difficult. I get the feeling her father would rather hide her in her room for the rest of her life.”

“Unfortunately, that is not an uncommon reaction to manifestations of mutant abilities. Let’s hope they change their minds over the next few days, shall we?” Charles says as he looks at Phil. “Now, you could have just handed me the documents and left. Tell me, what do you want to discuss, my friend?”

“What, can’t a man chat with his friend who he hasn’t seen in years?” Phil retorts with a smirk.

“The same man who would let his friend believe he was dead for two years?”

“Touché,” Phil allows. “In my defence, I never for one moment expected you to actually believe that.”

“For both our sakes, then.” Xavier adds. “So then, how may I be of help to you?”

Phil closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then starts explaining the circumstances of his death and resurrection. He tells Charles about the problem with the gun and his worry about not feeling like himself, ending with, “I know you don’t read the minds of friends, but I would really appreciate it if you could, just this once.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Charles asks him. Phil is sick of being pragmatic and smart. Now, he just wants answers.

“I don’t really care, Charles. If there is anyone I trust with SHIELD secrets you might accidentally picked up, it's you. I just want to make sure I’m me. And to unblock anything that you think is blocked.”

 _Even if you don’t like the answer you get?_ He asks telepathically.

_Even then._

Charles closes his eyes and touches a fingertip to his forehead. A few minutes later, he opens his eyes and stares straight at Phil. Phil’s hands are clammy, and it’s only years of training that prevents him from shaking like a child. Does he want to hear this? Can he take it? “It’s you, Phil.”

Phil releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and drops his head into his open hands. “Oh thank God.”

“There are some memories that I can’t seem to find, but I think you’ve truly lost them,” Charles adds. “But your brain patterns are the same as before, it’s you.”

“Oh thank God” Phil repeats. It’s okay. Yes, he’s having nightmares and not sleeping well, but it’s him, it’s not some LMD or clone-. “What if I’m a clone?”

“Clones still don’t think exactly alike, Phil, this is _your_ brain, I would know,” Charles reassures him. “Now, my friend, how about that brandy?”

“I would love to, Charles. But my team is waiting, and we need to head back to the Hub.” He stands up, and they make their way back to the front hall, where he finds Ororo and Melinda waiting for them.

“Do remember your old friend in Westchester every once in a while, Phil.” Charles tells him before they leave.

“I will, thank you, Charles.”

They walk back towards the Bus, then set their route for New York City. Whatever secrets Nick may still be hiding from him, at least Phil knows now that he’s in his own body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote Richard Feynman, the father of quantum physics, _"If you think you understand the quantum world, you don't understand the quantum world."_
> 
> Unlike Feynman, I am not the father of quantum physics, or any other physics, or, well anything really. But I do have a minor in physics so I'm hoping there is some scientific validity to my explanations. On the other hand, I am nowhere near Feynman himself and couldn't ever hope to be, so if he can say he doesn't understand and still get a Nobel prize, I would appreciate being forgiven for any mistakes in explaining the quantum world. And boy, are there going to be mistakes. I also can't take credit for the theory behind how Kitty's powers work, I used comicvine and my physics textbook to come up with an explanation that I hope makes sense. If not, well, that's what we have cartoon physics for!
> 
> ALSO. Apologies, the cliffhanger in Chapter 7 will be resolved soon enough:)  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes up in the infirmary. Phil's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai for the beta!
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings** : Burns.

_“I wish it need not have happened in my time, said Frodo. So do I, said Gandalf, and so do all who live to see such times.”_ Clint is so tired, and forcing his eyelids to open is a challenge he doesn’t have the strength for at the moment. He relents. He can hear various beeping sounds around him, but for some reason, he just can’t determine their whereabouts. For a moment, a cold rush of dread hits his chest. Has he been compromised again? But there is an almost recognizable warm weight resting on one of his hands.

 _“But that is not for them to decide,”_ that familiar comforting voice continues. _“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”_

Things are going to be ok, Phil is here. He won’t let anything happen to Clint. Phil never would. He lets the fog of medication pull him back under.

***

The second time he’s released from the spell of slumber, it’s dark. The only light in the room is from a tablet, casting a bleak light over Phil. He can’t remember anything. The only thing he knows for sure is that the pain shooting down the left side of his neck to the shoulder and down his arm is unbearable. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a rasping sound, which sets his neck ablaze. Okay, so talking is a bad idea, it seems. Suddenly there’s movement, clattering, and the darkness is replaced with the bright white lights of the infirmary. He would know, he’s been here often enough.

Phil presses something on the bedside table, and then leans over him. Clint wants to reach out and grab, but he can’t. He wants to ask for help, but his voice betrays him. He tries to fight through the pain and speak again, but all he can manage is a silent gasp.

Phil shushes him, that calm voice a point to focus on away from the pain, “Don’t try to talk. Are you in pain?” turning his own hand to rest under the fingers on Clint’s right hand. Clint taps in code, _yes._ At that point, a medic walks in, and Phil motions something. Phil’s wrist at his fingertips is gone, replaced by the medic, and that’s when he catches the IV line from the corner of his eye. The medic unscrews one of the caps on the line and injects something. A few moments later, the blinding pain reduces to a persistent hum in the back of his mind.

Phil is once again leaning in front of him, wrist returning to under his fingers. “I never thought I’d ever say this, but thank God you jumped.” That’s when Clint remembers. The fucking dragon. Natasha. He taps furiously against Phil’s wrist.

“She’s fine and the threat has been neutralized. Get some sleep, Clint. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.” Phil focuses a strained smile on him. His clothes are rumpled. The suit and tie are nowhere in sight, and the first few buttons on his shirt are unbuttoned. “I’m going to turn the lights off now. I’m right here.”

Clint taps back in acceptance and closes his eyes as darkness floods the room. The tablet is once again the only thing brightening up the room, the taps on its surface and Phil’s near inaudible breathing lulling him to sleep. He’s safe.

***

The third time he wakes up, for a single fraction of a second, he’s certain as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west that he’s back the circus due to the sheer amount of noise.

“Thank God there’s no major respiratory tract damage.” Bobbi. He wonders if he can pretend to sleep until they leave.

“I really need to work on designing a suit with sleeves that don’t mess with the shooting-“

Clint can’t focus on all the voices, but some are louder and stand out. Mostly it’s Tony. Big surprise.

“Cut it out with the feigning sleep shtick, it isn’t going to get you kissed. I’d say 34 hours is more than enough sleep.” Of course Jess would notice. He cracks a single eye open, and finds some members of his team surrounding him, even Natasha, sporting a shoulder sling. Bruce is closest, reading the medical chart lying atop his bedside table.

“How’s the pain, Clint?”

Clint tries to speak. Bad choice, because what comes out is a grated, “I’m all right.” He thinks he remembers thinking that speaking was a bad idea, but he can’t remember when.

“That is an interesting definition of all right,” replies Bruce. “Second degree with deep partial thickness burns on your left arm up to your shoulder. Neck burns with some respiratory tract damage, grade one sprain in your left leg from the fall, and minor smoke inhalation. You’re just lucky your suit is fireproof.” Clint finds that both his left arm and leg have been elevated. He can _sort of_ move his neck now, though it hurts a bit, and that’s when he notices that his leg is in a splint and his entire arm is covered in a dressing all the way up to his neck, he thinks, not that he can look or feel it.

“Ya said minor, doc,” he manages to shoot back. Talking still sucks.

“It’s a miracle that you don’t have third or fourth degree burns, you know that? I genuinely don’t know how you managed it, Clint,” Bobbi tells him, the skin between her eyes pinched with worry. Now Clint feels bad.

“I don’t care how, I’m just very thankful,” Bruce adds, “I’m going to go find the doctor for you. In the meantime, how about we give Clint some space?” He pointedly looks at the team. They each wish him well and leave.

When Natasha comes forward, Clint rasps out, "You fucked up my baby didn't you?"

"Well, you fucked up my best friend, so I think we're even." She leans forward to kiss him on the cheek and leaves.

Then it’s just him and Thor, who lingers, looking down at his feet.

“Friend Clint, I am truly regretful of being the cause of your injury. This would not have happened were I not the object of Amora’s affections. I would beg your forgiveness if I believed myself worthy of it.”

Clint wants to tell him this couldn’t possibly be his fault, that Clint is more than capable of using his own mind to make decisions. Thor shouldn’t take the fault for a dragon of all things. But talking is damn uncomfortable, so all he manages is, “’s okay. Not ya fault”

Thor nods, face still ashen. “I am grateful to the Son of Coul for standing vigil through the last two nights.”

“Phil?” He doesn’t understand. Phil’s dead. Clint killed him years ago. Phil is dead and he doesn’t know why Thor is bringing him up now, adding salt to his wounds. And then he remembers. It seems his brain just isn’t ready to accept the fact that Phil isn’t as dead as Clint thought him to be. Clint knows he’s stupid, okay? He’s working on it. He sighs, which sends shooting pains down his throat and lungs.

“Verily, he only left your side once through this ordeal-“

Thor doesn’t get to finish his sentence because that’s when Dr. Song walks in, and Clint likes her a lot because she doesn’t put up with Clint’s bullshit. Actually she doesn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, despite being under five feet tall and pushing sixty. Everyone in medical is either terrified or in love with her. Clint is neither, but he likes that she listens when he actually says something that counts. Most of the other medical staff don’t; the doctors here are used to superhuman patients. Clint’s boring for them. But this is Dr. Song so he decides not to be the dick he usually (read: always) is.

Thor leaves and shuts the door, armour clanging behind him.

“Well well, look who is up and awake,” Dr. Song says with a smile.

“Hey, boss. What up?” he wheezes out.

Dr. Song frowns. “Didn’t Dr. Banner tell you not to talk too much? I know it’s not easy for you, Barton, but just listen for now. Dr. Banner said he already told you your diagnosis, so I’ll get right to the point. The sprain is easy enough. I’ll remove the splint now; it’s not bad enough that you actually need it anymore. You’ve got some complete tears in the fibers of the ligament, but it’s been elevated for almost two days. I wouldn’t mind if you decide to walk on it, but it’s not like you can use your arms to support yourself at the moment, so let's just stay in bed.” She removes the splint and the sling, resting the leg back onto the bed, then elevates the bottom part of the bed slightly. “Let’s talk lines.”

“I know you don’t like infusion lines,” Dr. Song continues as she grabs the medical chart from the table where Bruce left it behind. Clint sees the worn out copy of The Fellowship of the Ring beside it. “But you need the fluids and the antibiotics. Same goes for the patient controlled analgesia. The PCA is your friend, kid. Same goes for the cannula, you have smoke inhalation, and your last oxygen saturation measurement was at 89%. I need that number up to a 97 at least before you pull that out.” Clint hadn’t even noticed the nasal cannula, so whatever. “The catheter, I can remove if you want,” -What catheter? Jeez. He hadn’t noticed that either- “But you’re on bed rest for another day at least so I’d recommend leaving it in until you can walk again.”

Clint nods. “I’ve put you on a good amount of analgesics, and you know how the PCA works. Once every half hour is your limit. You’ll get extra painkillers before dressing changes. And don’t irritate Agent Coulson too much, he’s exhausted,” she commands before writing something into the medical chart. “Press the red button if you need anything,” she adds with another kind smile before setting the chart back down.

It’s quiet for a while after she leaves, and Clint desperately wants to get up. Everything itches or hurts, and he hates wearing hospital gowns. To his relief, there’s a knock on the door, and Phil enters, clad in a dark grey suit. “You did quite the number on yourself, Specialist.”

Clint raises his right hand and taps on the bedrail clear as water- _D.R.A.G.O.N_. No point in trying to speak when Phil an just as easily read tap code. Phil breaks out in a smile and drags the chair over from the nearby table. He unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs out of it, hanging on the back of the chair before settling into it.

“So, what will it be today? We’re done with _The Fellowship of the Ring_ already.” And Clint is thrown sharply into the past. Hundreds of nights in the SHIELD infirmary, Phil at his side for every moment, reading and then rereading _The Fellowship of the Ring_ because Clint loves that story so damn much, and then Harry Potter because who doesn’t love Harry Potter. Phil is the one who introduced Harry Potter to Clint, reading through all seven books in the four weeks he spent in the infirmary after seventeen days of torture.

But Phil has a team and a job. What’s he even doing here? Clint’s not his asset anymore. So he asks. _Don’t you have a new job?_

Very few would have caught that wince that momentarily passed Phil’s face. But Clint is Hawkeye and he loves _Lie to Me_ so he knows about microexpressions and he never misses. Oops. “Well, we got back and haven’t had a mission since then. Besides, it’s amazing the amount of paperwork I can catch up on when I’m back here.” Ah. So he’s probably leaving soon. Clint should pick something short so they can finish it before he leaves. Otherwise Phil gets all antsy. He doesn't like unfinished business. It’s fine. Phil owes him nothing, he’s just kind. Phil reads to him in hospitals and stays the night because Clint would most definitely escape somehow. But Phil has a team who needs him, and Phil hates leaving things unfinished. _Philosopher’s Stone,_ he taps back _._ In reality, he doesn’t care which one it is.

“To be honest, I think, in this particular circumstance, how about _The Goblet of Fire_?”

_We don’t have the time to finish it._

“Who says?”

_Your team will get called._

“They’re quite capable on their own.”

And so that’s how Clint spends the next ten hours, listening to Phil read on his tablet through a painful dressing change and lunch and another dressing change and physiotherapy for the leg. They only stop long enough for Phil to feed him ice chips and some cold soup and then Phil continues, voice becoming increasingly raspy as the hours pass. He leaves for a few minutes so one of the nurses could care for the catheter, then comes right back with a cup of coffee and continues reading. As usual, the need to get out is replaced by a fascination with Phil’s features. It’s been so long since he’s had a chance, and it’s funny how the old patterns come back to him. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before, it’s Phil’s voice keeping him still, Phil’s wrinkles and the silver in his hair giving him something to focus on. It’s Phil’s elegant hands in desperate need of lotion that gives his inner being something to centre in on. The circles under Phil’s eyes are deeper than ever and Clint hates himself a little –a lot- for being the reason for it.

It’s creepy. Clint knows he’s being creepy. But Phil’s never minded so Clint doesn’t stop. Instead, he calms and listens and breathes in Phil, lets that voice surround him, sneaking into his veins and filling every cell in his body without him even realizing it. Clint reminds himself again and again that this is real. Phil is real and alive and here and doesn’t hate him and Clint is hit with a sudden need to reach forward and kiss Phil so badly that he’s thankful he doesn’t have the strength.

All too soon, it’s nearly ten pm, Clint starts having a hard time staying awake even though he’s sitting up in bed, and Phil being Phil, notices. By now, Phil’s voice sounds as raspy as his own is. Clint himself hasn’t spoken a word for hours, finding it so much easier to use tap code with Phil.

Phil helps him brush his teeth and wipe his face, and Clint, who’s been staring at him all day without somehow realizing it, sees how exhausted this man looks. _Go get some sleep._

“Oh, I would, if only the paperwork would stop,” Phil responds wryly before loosening his tie and removing it. And Clint hates himself a little bit more. Phil hasn’t had the time to do any work because he spent the day reading to Clint. He hates himself so much and he loves Phil so much he wants to push the man out of the room, to make him go and sleep. And he loves Phil but resents him so much for letting Clint add to his problems. Clint sighs and then coughs, then coughs again and can’t stop though his throat is ablaze. Phil is right beside him on the bed, rubbing his chest with one hand and a spoon of ice chips in his other until he can breathe again. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here,” Phil says, voice steady as ever, a shelter from the hurricane of voices in his head telling him that he’s leaving, that he hates Clint. Clint has never been so thankful in his life for that voice and its conviction. He needs Phil to understand except he doesn’t know how, so he grabs on desperately to the hand on his chest and taps. _I’m glad._ He doesn’t need to say what for, or why, because Phil knows him and Phil will get it. Phil can hear ‘I’m so glad you’re alive’ and ‘I’m so glad you’re here’ without Clint having to say it out loud. He may not hear 'I'm so glad because I love you’, but that’s exactly how Clint wants it.

And Phil being Phil doesn’t freeze or pull away, he just lets Clint hold onto that hand, puts the spoon back in the cup before resting the hand against Clint’s own, careful of the IV before tapping, _Me too, Clint, me too_.

They stay there for a moment, and it’s a bit awkward but it’s Phil, so it’s ok. Phil pulls away first, pulling the duvet up to Clint’s chest, careful of his burn dressings, and lowers the head of the bed until Clint is lying horizontally.

He turns the lights off, then sits down on the chair right next to Clint, one hand worming under Clint’s right hand. “So you can always communicate with me,” Phil explains, using the other hand to navigate the tablet. “Good night, Clint.”

So he’s staying again. This won't do. No matter if Clint doesn’t want him to leave ever again. Phil’s going to fall apart like this. Even he’s not invincible. Clint used to think that he was. But now there’s a scar on Phil's chest that proves the falsity of that belief. _You need to get some sleep._

“You first, Specialist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Americans know the first HP book as the Sorcerer's Stone, but I'd like to believe that Phil refuses to acknowledge that name change (like me) and sticks with Philosopher's Stone:)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil spends the night with Clint, they help each other in more ways than one. Then Clint gets better. Phil gets worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, between Canada Day and the oncoming fourth of July, me and my beta may have had our hands full. As always, I am forever grateful to ereshai for all her insight. 
> 
> **Trigger Warnings:** Description of burn wounds and treatments for second degree burn wounds. I wouldn't say graphic, but it's not glossed over either.

It’s two am and Clint is asleep. Phil isn’t. He knows he probably shouldn’t resent sleep as much as he does, but these days, sleep means nightmares that he can’t handle. It’s been five days since he’s had any proper amount of sleep, and Phil honestly doesn’t know how he’s still working. The only good thing in this ordeal is that Phil is caught up on almost all of his digital paperwork. Working straight through two nights at a hospital does have its benefits. Especially since there’s no one bothering him for things apparently only he can do.

Right now though, Phil is reading through a situation report and mission outline for a missing person on the List, and debating the need for him to assist in the op or not. On the one hand, he was absolutely honest when he’d told Camilla that the team didn’t need him. On the other, he isn’t sure what it would do to the team if he doesn't go on an op with them so early in their new arrangement. In their capability, he trusts. In their morale, he’s less sure. In the end, he decides to send them alone and shoots off an e-mail to Melinda. He spends some time rooting through old SHIELD files for information about Skye’s parentage, but not finding much, switches to the new mission plans for two reports he’d been sent in the meantime from Mission Control. By the time he’s found some strategic errors and sent the edited plans back to Mission Control, it’s four am, and he’s exhausted. It’s so dark, he knows he should sleep, but why bother if all it results in is more terror?

He’s absentmindedly skimming through Clint’s psych files again when he’s interrupted by a nurse. He pulls his hand away from Clint in embarrassment, but she hadn’t even noticed. She silently hands over a cup of coffee. Phil nods his thanks, and moves out of the way while she takes Clint’s oxygen saturation, temperature and pulse. Things seem to be okay, because she removes the cap from one of the ports in the peripheral cannula and prepares the syringe. After a few moments of fiddling she turns back to Phil, “Could you help me, sir? He won’t keep his hand still.” He obediently moves forward, only to see Clint furiously tapping in his sleep, against the bed.

He doesn’t need to feel it to see what, if he were saying it, would be a shout, _Please come back, I’m so sorry, I’ll be good, please don’t leave me again, please come back please, Phil-_

_A_ nd Phil moves instinctively, one hand grasping Clint’s while the other taps into the wrist, _I’m here, it’s okay, I promise_ again and again until Clint stills, fingers digging into Phil’s hand and refusing to let go even in sleep _._ The nurse, Georgia, thanks him, quickly emptying the painkiller before capping it up again.

Georgia turns to him, “I’ll be back in half an hour to change the dressing, sir.”

“Thanks.”

She leaves and he stands there, hand still in Clint’s grasp. He manages to sit down, his arm sticking out at an uncomfortable angle, but it is of no consequence. Pulling back Clint’s psych reports after the battle on his tablet, Phil reads through some perturbing notes. He knows he should stop rereading the same things over and over again, but he can’t help but hope he’ll find something, some tiny detail he's missed the first time, to help Clint.

From _Agent Barton clearly remembers the entirety of his time under Loki’s control,_ to _, Agent Barton is willing to talk about everything. It is hypothesized that Agent Barton feels responsible for the death of the SHIELD agents that occurred during the attack on the Helicarrier, especially of his handler Agent Coulson. He has been willing to aid in any way possible._ And _Agent Barton may be a danger to himself and others, and cannot currently be cleared for field duty._ Leading to, _Agent Barton cannot come to terms with Agent Coulson’s death, or of the other agents who were killed or injured on the attack on the Helicarrier._ That hurts. _Agent Barton cannot be cleared for field duty until it can be proven that no traces of Loki’s mind control remains in him._

What a load of absolute bullshit. As if SHIELD had any way to prove something like that. What did SHIELD know of magic? No wonder he’d never been cleared. No wonder the Avengers had pulled him out. In Fury’s private notes that he’d sent to Phil, it had been noted that the Director believed this to be better for him, as SHIELD was no longer the safe haven for Clint it had once been. Phil agrees with that, even if he would have handled it differently. Either way, it becomes clear to Phil that Clint hadn’t talked to anyone about the entire situation, not truthfully at least. Psych had been absolutely useless, and no one else had the clearance to talk to him about the events that took place in 2012. The scan of the letter from Banner proving Clint’s mind being clear of Loki’s magic says nothing of his state of mind, Phil notes.

Phil has never felt guiltier. Before Clint ever learned to trust SHIELD, he had trusted Phil, and talked to him even when he couldn’t to Psych. Except this time.To think that all these years, Clint had been carrying around the guilt of killing him and other SHIELD agents when the blame completely lay on Loki.

Phil is so riled up in his fury that when Georgia comes back, she looks terrified. The coffee she’d brought him is cold and untouched beside him, and the tablet is held tightly in his hand. He forces himself to calm down and stands up, placing the tablet on the bedside table. Georgia turns the lights on and Phil taps out against Clint’s right hand, _Wake up, Clint-_ and he awakens, eyes wide open and focusing on Phil. _We need to change the wound dressing again._

_Okay,_ Clint taps back. Phil lets go of Clint and rolls up his sleeves, heading towards the sink to wash and disinfect his hands. It’s become a routine that Phil knows by heart by now. Georgia does the same and then they both open packages of sterilized gloves, and as per practice, Phil stands beside the table already prepped with topical antibacterial cream, Mepitel silicone dressings and secondary pads. Georgia slowly removes the outer dressing, disposing of it in the nearby bag before removing the second layer of absorbent pads, which are rather damp. She carefully pulls them away and then peels off the silicone dressing. The blisters burst hours ago, but what’s left of the skin is red and moist, even white in areas. The outer part of Clint’s arm is completely burned, but it’s less severe near the neck and shoulder, a fact for which Phil is endlessly grateful.

When they'd first brought him in, the medevac has arrived minutes after Phil, who'd been on his way in from the airstrip when he'd seen Natasha on the stretcher, arm carefully set in a sling. His heart had stopped when a second stretcher had been brought out of the Quinjet, the shock of ashen hair giving away the patient's identity. It's not the first time that Phil's seen Clint hurt, but somehow, it's harder to handle each time. Phil barely remembers what happened between then and coming to rest in Clint's single bed room. The Avengers had followed a few minutes later only to be shooed out by the medical personnel.

He remembers Maria telling him to leave, that he had other responsibilities. He remembers arguing. There was a lot of shouting until Dr. Song had made them quiet down or leave. He remembers being so awfully glad that Clint want already unconscious because that meant at least he wasn't in pain.

Clint's in pain now, that much is clear.

Clint makes no noise, but Phil knows Clint, and he knows Clint’s brave face. He’s in pain and Phil wishes he could do more. It infuriates him that all he can do is hand the nurse things while Clint is suffering beside him. Georgia removes her gloves and washes her hands again, before donning another pair of sterile gloves. She takes time to rinse out the wound with saline before patting it dry as much as she can. Phil offers her the container of antibacterial cream and Georgia applies it gingerly to the skin as fast as she can. Phil can’t help but cringe, because this is the most painful part of it all. Clint is paling fast, fine tremors running down his body. Georgia speeds up. Phil can only hope the cooling effect of the cream is of some use.

Next, the non-adherent Mepitel dressing is applied, and Georgia once again places pads around the silicone dressing. “We won’t need to have these pads once skin begins to form, so you’ll be a bit more free. Then you’ll just need a compression garment.” She informs them, before placing a loose dressing around the arm and shoulder to keep it in place. Phil helps her wrap it around Clint, being as gentle as possible. He pulls his gloves off and dumps them in the bag on the table. She thanks him and takes the black bag full of used dressings with her, closing the door beside him with a final, “Do call us if you need something for the pain, okay?”

Clint nods, and Phil washes his hands before coming to stand beside him, hand once again under Clint’s fingers. “Can you sleep?”

_Can you?_ Phil cringes. If only Clint didn’t have such acute vision.

“I have some work to do.”

_Just a bit? What time is it anyway?_

“Around five.”

_Just a bit, then? You’ll be up by seven either way._

And Phil, he’s shattered, he needs sleep. But he cannot, _will not_ , let himself bother Clint by waking up screaming from a nightmare half an hour from now.

“No point in getting so little sleep, might as well stay awake.”

_Weren’t you the one who taught me the importance of a power nap?_

The battle is lost, he knows it. He doesn’t know how to argue with Clint, not in the things that matters. Not when he’s looking at Phil with so much worry in his eyes. So he concedes. He’ll just close his eyes for a bit, just until Clint falls asleep again. “Okay, let’s both try to get some sleep,” he suggests before turning off the lights and coming to sit beside Clint again.

_Bed can fit two._

“No. No, it really can’t.”

_We’ve slept in smaller things._

And yes, Clint is right, they have. They’ve slept pressed against each other in caves and inside wardrobes and harsh banana leaf mats in shitty safe houses often enough. But never when Clint’s been so injured, and Phil will never risk Clint like that. “Out of the question, Agent,” he says before closing his eyes.

_Try to sleep._

“You, too.” And the hand tightens around his wrist, fingers finding his pulse and holding on tight. Phil leans back on the chair, it’s uncomfortable and his head is dangling off the back of the chair, but he doesn’t actually want to sleep so it’s optimal for that.

Then it’s silent except for their breaths, which slowly synchronize. Just until Clint falls asleep, Phil thinks in the darkness, just until he’s asleep, and Phil can get back to work.

Just a little longer. Just a couple more minutes...

***

_It’s bright, and Dr.Streiten is shouting, “This is wrong.”_

_Phil can see his own head, cut open and that_ thing _working around it. He begs, “Please let me die, please, please let me die,” but they don’t. They never do._

_There’s tapping on his wrist, though there’s nothing there that he can see, it’s the tap code Strike Team Delta used to use._ Phil, it’s Clint. Wake up. It’s okay. Everything’s okay, it’s just a dream. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

***

Phil wakes up with a gasp and realizes at once what’s happened. It’s dark, there’s a warm around his wrist where Clint is still tapping, _Wake up_.

“It’s okay. I’m awake. Sorry.” He should never have listened. He’d known this would happen, and he let himself be weak, and now Clint was going to pay for it.

_Don’t be sorry. Guess I’m not the only one having nightmares, huh, boss?_

“Guess not, Clint.” He whispers back. “I’m still sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep.”

_Do you want to talk about it?_ Yes. Yes, he desperately wants to talk to Clint about all the things that don’t add up, the dreams that never leave him in peace. But Clint has enough on his plate. Phil must stay strong for Clint.

“Go back to sleep, Clint.” Phil says before pulling out the tablet again.

_I’m sorry._

***

The next few days consist of running from one mission control room to another, to twenty meetings and one rather humiliating (not for him) dressing down in the Psych wing, all of this in between reading to Clint and doing paperwork through the night, of course. He does manage a few hours every once in a while, when Clint’s hand around his wrist is almost painful and he doesn’t stay in his nightmares very long before he wakes.

As Clint’s wounds begins to heal, they limit the dressing to silicone dressings, and allow him to walk around, which turns out to be an absolutely idiotic move in retrospect because immediately afterwards he flees the coop.

On the one hand, no one can find him within the Hub’s ventilation systems. Especially considering that Natasha and Steve are off on a mission together. On the other hand, he’s really good about making it to redressing appointments because if the skin heals wrong, he could lose range of mobility in his arms, a fact that Dr. Song has repeatedly told him.

Phil’s not surprised. But Phil hadn’t been around and no one had consulted him, so he’s sure as hell not going to help. He has enough to do considering that AIM Island is trying to become recognized by the United Nations.

Phil hasn’t seen Clint since he left the infirmary, and he tries to convince himself it’s because there is so much that Phil needs to do. His life consists of SHIELD, he hasn’t left the inside of the Hub in a week, hasn’t seen the sun in a week, so it’s understandable that he hasn’t seen Clint in a couple of days. It’s not because of Clint seeing a part of him that Phil doesn't want Clint prying into.

At least, not yet. He won't dump his problems onto Clint when Clint should be focusing on getting better. But Phil knows that all he needs is a single questioning look from Clint, quirk of the eyebrows, to end up spilling everything. So he focuses on everything else.

Then one night, he falls asleep at his desk in his apartment and dreams of wishing death, twisting and turning in his seat until a metallic repetition of a familiar secret code wakes him up. He sits up in his chair, bewildered, mind torn and frayed, and moves to his bed, forcing sleep to claim him, despite his deep unwillingness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's pizza dog, Kate and a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai as always for being a lovely beta!

“Tony, seriously, man. I don’t do sleeves, ok? They mess with my aim.” Clint is in one of Tony’s many labs at the Avengers tower. He’s been cooped up in SHIELD for the last few days and when Dr. Patel gave him permission to leave the compound - as long as he came back for dressing changes - he made his way as fast as possible to the tower. It’s nice to be out again.

“Second degree burns can mess with your aim too, Legolas. Come on, Bruce baby, back me up here?” Tony says from behind the holotable.

“I don’t know, Tony. You put plutonium in a toaster; I don’t trust your judgement.” Bruce shoots back from his corner of the lab, working on something that looks like van Gogh's’ _Starry Night_ on yet another holotable.

“Hey! I trusted you! We’re supposed to be the science bros! Tumblr said so.” Tony throws a grease-covered rag in Bruce’s general direction. It misses and lands on DUM-E, who whirls around, visual sensors clearly impaired.

“Tony has a point, Clint. The only reason you weren’t even more severely hurt was because of the suit. If the suit had covered your arms, you would never have been hurt in the first place.”

“And I wouldn’t be this useless to the Avengers. I know. But I’m telling ya, it fucks with my accuracy.”

Bruce sighs, “Clint, you were injured to the point where you’re out of the field for six weeks. We don't care that you're off the roster, we care that you were hurt."

Clint can feel his face heating up. It’s hard to remember that he’s building an actual family here, not just a team. “Ok, I’ll try it. But I ain’t making no promises. And not that one that looks like I’m wearing a skirt. I’d look like a sexy bitch, but I did enough of that for a lifetime in the circus.”

“Duly noted, Barton.” Tony salutes him and Clint returns the gesture with a middle finger.

“Take care of that arm, Clint,” Bruce calls after him as he leaves the lab.

Steve is on a mission and Clint’s hiding from his exes at the moment. He still doesn’t know how he ended up on a team with the likes of Thor, and still be the one who has history with three of the women on the team. Either way, he’d rather not have to deal with them right now. Except for Natasha because _, Natasha_. She’s still at the Hub though, so he contemplates going there, or going back home. He wants to go home, but Kate’s in L.A. with Lucky and he doesn’t really want to deal with the tracksuit ninjas. On the other hand, he should probably check in and make sure everyone’s ok, considering he owns the building and all.

Decision made, he runs down to the garage and takes one of Tony’s cars, a gorgeous red Impala and cruises over to his apartment. He parks in front of his building, tells JARVIS to go ahead and electrocute anyone who even thinks about keying the car, and runs up the stairs to the fourth floor. He's pushing his unlocked door open when he's stopped by Simone.

“Hey, Clint,” she says, leaning against her doorframe, little James resting on her hip. Her eyes widen as she notices the large dressing on his arm, “Oh my God, what happened to you?”

“Em, it’s nothing. Just a burn,” he answers, waving his hands dismissively. James takes that to mean that Clint wants to hold him and stretches his arms towards the archer. Clint winces, “I’m sorry, buddy, I can’t hold you without dropping you.” Instead he pats the baby on his bald head.

Simone, on the other hand, is not so easily distracted, and gives him that look that means she knows exactly what’s happened, but will let him continue to believe that no one in this apartment has any idea of what Clint does for a living. “Well, you let me know if you need anything, all right?”

“Thanks, Simone,” he answers, scratching the back of his head with his uninjured hand. “Actually, I just wanted to drop by and make sure everyone was ok, you know, playing landlord and all.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. Now that you ask, our dishwasher has been having issues, but it’s nothing that can’t wait. Let your arm heal first, ok?” she more or less commands him.

“Will do.Any trouble with the tracksuit ninjas?”

"What? Oh the Russian mafia? Not so much."

"Good to hear. You have my cell number right? In case of emergencies?" Clint asks.

“I do. Thank you. I’ll see you around, Clint.” She gives him a kind smile before shutting the door behind her.

Clint spends the next hour airing out his apartment (it still smells like vomit and alcohol, and oh boy, it’s been ages since he’s been here) and going through mail stuck under the door.He thinks of taking the letters up to the table and working through them there, but then, the floor is just as comfortable, so he collapses and reads through a bunch of bills and a postcard from Kate dated a couple of weeks ago.

As he's sorting the envelopes, he can’t help but remember that night with Phil and the nightmare he’d had. Clint wonders if he’s getting any sleep at all. He knows it’s not really his business, but he can’t help but worry anyway. The last time he’d checked up on Phil through the vents, he’d been asleep at his desk in his room, screaming those awful words. Clint should maybe feel guilty for sneaking up on Phil, but he’s just glad he was able to bring him back to reality.

_Please, let me die._ That’s what he’d said. _Please let me die_. Now Clint can’t go for an hour without thinking those words. Phil had shown him the transcripts all those weeks ago, but it hadn’t clicked then. And now, Phil is stuck in terrifying memories manifesting in his sleep. Clint wants to help, but he has no idea how. What could he possibly do? He tears apart a piece of junk mail with particular viciousness.

_Please, let me die._ Clint wants to scrub those words out of his brain so he never has to hear Phil say them, ever again. He can’t bear it. If only he were stronger, like Barney or Natasha.

He only makes it through half of them when the main door is flung open and Clint is overthrown by Lucky. He yelps, because _goddammit_ that really hurts to have a dog lean on your burns and scratch through the compression garment, and out of the corner of his eyes sees Kate shut the door behind her.

“Lucky, get off of him!” Lucky bows his head and reluctantly pulls away from Clint, sitting on top of the letters on the floor. So apparently the dog listened to her now. “What did you do to yourself this time, Clint?”

“It wasn’t my fault, there was a dragon, okay?”

The frown on her face breaks into a smile, “I heard! Tommy was super jealous he didn’t get to see it. I think he was somewhere with Wanda and Billy. Family stuff.” She throws her purse down on the ground and sits in front of him, pulling Lucky into her lap. “You’re going to need to have that looked at.”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to go in the evening anyway.”

“Let me see,” Kate demands, leaning over and peering at the now ripped compression garment. “Oh, that’s going to leave a nasty scar.”

“Yeah, thanks, Katie-Kate, I couldn’t possibly have figured that out myself.” One of these days, he’s going to figure out why he lets this brat trample all over the paper house that is his life. In the meantime, he supposes it’s only natural that she’s a little monster. (Ok, yeah, he loves her.) She punches him in the arm, thankfully, the healthy one. (Ok, yeah, it’s probably because she loves him too.) Lucky head butts Clint in the chest, looking at him morosely. “It’s ok, buddy, I’m all right.”

“No, but seriously, it’s kinda gross, go to SHIELD and make them fix it already.” Kate pokes him in the chest, “Don’t be a dick, Clint. Take care of yourself. I can’t be responsible for Lucky forever,” she says as she cuddles said dog.

“Want pizza?” he asks, ignoring her last sentence. Lucky stands to attention at the word _pizza_ and Kate rolls her eyes.

“Why, so you can feed to Lucky and he can have diarrhea? No, I’m going home, with Lucky, because Eli loves him, and I’m a great girlfriend.” She pushes Lucky off of her lap and gets up, grabbing her purse on her way up. “You take care, Hawkeye.”

“You too, Hawkeye.”

Lucky, of course, follows her out. Clint thinks of ordering pizza and catching up on Dog Cops, but instead decides he might as well head over to the SHIELD infirmary, becausewhile he might hate people poking around him, he hates having something affect his aim with a much greater ferocity.

It’s six pm and he’s woefully late by the time he makes it to the Hub, but one of the nurses deals with the bandage as soon as he arrives. He has to admit that Kate has a point, because damn, that’s forming an ugly scar. It’s not that he’s vain or anything, but he knows his one good feature is his arms, and it does sting a bit to have it be this damaged and discoloured. He comforts himself with the fact that he’s regaining full mobility in his arm again. Satisfied with the healing, Dr. Patel tells him he can shoot for no more than half an hour, so he makes his way to the range. There’s no one around. It’s seven pm and most people who are in the facility around this time are having their dinner. Clint isn’t hungry. He hasn’t really eaten all day, or much at all in the last few days. _Please, let me die_. He isn’t hungry.

He wonders if Phil is around. Even if he’s not gone on a mission, Phil has enough work at the moment, and probably doesn’t need, let alone want Clint around. On the other hand, Phil might need a break, even if he doesn’t want it. He walks to the mess hall, then the range, makes it all the way up to mission control and back down to the mess to pick up black coffee and an extra-large chocolate chip cookie, before standing in front of Phil’s office door, unsure if he should knock or leave.

Of course, Phil knows him better than he knows himself (or he’s just a ridiculously awesome spy), because he calls out, “Come on in, Clint,” before Clint can decide what he wants to do. It reminds Clint so much of older days that his hands shake.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announces as he pushes the door open with his elbow and shoulder. He places the coffee and cookie on the desk in front of him and hides his hands behind his back before taking a quick look around the office. It’s changed. The art is gone, so are all the knickknacks that used to clutter the bookshelf to his left. The couch to his right is still there, but the pillows are gone, so is the knit blanket that Clint and Natasha had made for Phil four years ago while staying in a safe house. He looks at the seat in front of him, the bare sofa, and decides to stand.

“Thank you,” Phil says, taking a sip of coffee. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then another sip. “Oh, I needed that.”

Clint stops looking around to finally focus on Phil, and he’s hit with the sudden urge to push him into the nearest bed, cover him in blankets and make him rest. The shadows under his eyes are deeper than ever, Phil is pale and sinking in his seat, pen held loosely in one hand. Clint makes a split second decision to take the coffee away from Phil. “Okay no, you don’t need coffee, you need sleep.”

“Clint, I appreciate your concern, but really, I’m fine. How’s your arm?”

“Never mind my arm. When was the last time you got eight hours?” he asks. Phil looks down. “You don’t remember, do you?”And Clint, Clint knows he has absolutely no right, but he won’t let Phil get hurt ever again, not if he can do something about it, so he gulps down the coffee, because you don’t waste food, dumps the paper cup into the trash and grabs Phil’s suit jacket, which is hanging over the couch, and motions for Phil to get up.

“Clint, please. I...”

Clint takes a chance, he knows it’s not his business, but if no one else knows about his nightmares, then Clint doesn’t have a choice. He has to say something. “Are you still having nightmares?”

Phil shrugs, not even angry. “It’s not important, I can’t sleep even if I wanted to, I have too much to do.”

“And how much work have you managed in the last hour?”

Phil looks down at the papers in front of him with a weary sigh. “Six words.”

“In the last hour. Okay, come on, your apartment, now.” Clint walks over to Phil side and holds out an arm. Phil holds on and pulls himself up, reeling over onto Clint from sheer exhaustion.

Clint manages not to yelp in pain, but it must show on his face.“Dammit,” Phil hisses. “I’m so sorry. Just give me a minute.”

“I guess we’re a couple of hot messes, eh?”

Phil breathes out a small laugh, then pulls away from Clint and leans against the desk looking down at his feet. After a few moments, he looks back up at Clint and nods. “Okay, I’m okay.”

“All right, I’m just going to walk you to your room, ok?” Clint moves over, letting Phil lead, but staying close enough to catch him if he falls. They lock up and head to Phil’s quarters.

Phil’s fingers are shaking but they manage to set the code, and Clint enters yet another room devoid of any evidence that it is actually Phil’s. He shuts the door behind him, and Phil turns around, expression betraying his surprise that Clint is still here. “It’s all right now, you don’t have to waste your time on me, Clint.”

“Shut up. Let me just help you to bed, then I’ll get out of your hair,” Clint says, throwing the jacket he’d been holding on the bed. It’s not like they haven’t done this a million times before, sleeping in tiny beds in safe houses, limbs hopelessly tangled and spending the next day smelling like each other. Clint can help Phil to bed before he falls asleep on his feet. Which is starting to look like a possibility, as Phil just stares at Clint, unsure of what to do. “Let’s start with that tie of yours.”

Phil starts, but his fingers are shaking so much it’s not doing much but pulling the tie tighter. Clint winces. _How exhausted Phil must be that he can’t control his own body._ He instinctively moves forward and swats the unhelpful hands away, swiftly pulling the tie off, and throws it on top of his jacket. Before Phil can protest, he unbuttons the shirt, and pulls its tails out of the slacks. Phil shrugs out of it and it also ends up on the bed. The shoes Phil manages to kick off, an unprecedented event, but he fails again with his belt buckle and Clint moves in to help him. He takes the belt and rolls it up before dumping it on the desk for now, and then turns back to Phil.

Just in time to see Phil remove his undershirt. .

See, the problem with being so caught up in doing things he’s done before is that Clint’s forgotten the things that have changed. Like the vicious scars on Phil’s chest. The gasp is ripped out of his throat, he couldn’t have kept it inside of him if he’d tried. Some people think scars are romantic and beautiful and all that shit. In reality, scars are only painful reminders of the past. He thinks of Tony and the scar in his chest he's only ever let Clint see once. Of Loki and all the people Clint killed. Of Phil. _Please, let me die_.

There’s a hand resting on his, and that’s when he realizes that his own hand is somehow resting on Phil’s chest. He pulls away, jarred. “I’m sorry. Phil, I’m so sorr-“

“Stop it. I’m here. I’m not dead, and you’re not at fault for what happened. Stop taking the blame for Loki.” If only he could believe that as easily as Phil did. Phil brings up a hand to his cheeks and wipes away wetness that Clint hadn’t even realized was there.

Clint can’t. He needs space. He turns around and walks over to the wardrobe, pulling out a suit bag and carefully putting the suit into it. Phil sighs and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. By the sound of it, he's brushing his teeth. Clint shuts the wardrobe and leans against it, slowly sliding down to the floor. _Please, let me die._ He hugs his knees and forces his hands to stop shaking. They can’t both be like this. Phil is hurting, and Clint needs to be strong for him.

He’s up like lightning the moment the door handle to the bathroom turns, and Phil looks a bit better for having washed his face and brushed his teeth. Clint heads towards the main door, opening it. He can’t look at Phil right now, not at the bare, scarred chest, proof of Clint’s betrayal. “Promise me eight hours, Phil.”

“Clint, I-“ Phil seems at a loss for words. “Yes. Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He leaves and shuts the door behind him, the door automatically locking. He makes it as far as the elevator before he aches to see Phil again, make sure he’s all right. Clint wanders to Natasha’s room, not ready to sleep in his own bed. She's almost never here and that's the case tonight as well, but the bed smells like her and he breathes it in and shuts his eyes. It's all in vain. Two hours later, he's still restless,so he wanders the halls till midnight. The eighth floor break room is empty, so he jumps up on the table and into the vents. It only takes him a half hour to find his way to the vents over Phil’s sleeping form, and by then, he’s sweating and red from the pain. He congratulates himself on being better than he was last time he’d found Phil like this.

But all of that is forgotten by the sight below him. “Please, please let me die!” Phil screams, and it takes all the strength Clint has to not jump out of the ceiling and wake Phil. Instead he knocks out two clear words into the metal of the vent cover. _Wake up._ And Phil does, shaking and sweating, blanket rumpled around him. He looks around for a moment, absolutely bewildered, then lays back down. It’s only another two hours and Clint even manages to get some shut eye despite the cold and the hard surface before the screaming starts again and Clint once again taps loudly against the vents. _Wake up_. It goes on like that all night. Phil sleeps, he screams, Clint awakens him without knowing. Phil goes to sleep again, screams again and the cycle repeats until Clint feels like he’d rather die than hear Phil say those awful words again.

Morning doesn’t come soon enough, but Phil looks awful for having been in bed for eight hours, and though it sounds impossible, Clint knows he feels even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my readers make my day!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely ereshai as always.

Chapter 12

When Phil wakes up for the third time that night, begging for sweet death, the only reason he doesn’t give up on sleep is the promise he’s made to Clint Barton. Eight hours. He’d promised eight hours, and he's going to try no matter how badly he wants to give up. He’d sat in front of his desk for an hour and written six damn words, fingers trembling and head aching. And Phil doesn’t want to have to do that again. He doesn’t want to be incapable of removing his own clothes again, so he tells himself _eight hours_. Since the nights spent with Clint in the infirmary, his dreams were cut short, some twisted fantasy of Clint’s code breaking the hold the dreams have upon him. He doesn’t know what that new development means, but he’s just thankful he only gets stuck in his dreams for a few minutes before waking up.

Now if only he could stop having said nightmares. While Phil is a big believer in therapy (though, not currently in SHIELD’s psych wing, for obvious reasons), no one has the clearance to know about his entire death and recovery, so he’s a bit lost. As there’s no point in going to his therapist and lying through most of it, he decided long ago it was better just not to bother going.

So instead, he lies in bed, cuddling into his duvet, clad only in boxers and forcing himself to go back to sleep. He thinks of good things, of things that make him feel content and secure. Of receiving the first Captain America trading card as a birthday gift from his grandfather. Of being thrown into the air by the father, sure in his faith that his dad would never let him fall. Of earning his Bronze Star, and of meeting Clint.Of late evenings with TV and beer and Clint drooling on his sofa. Of Clint and Natasha giving him the uneven –couldn’t decide whether to seed or garter stitch and now it’s lumpy- blanket they’d made when they’d been stuck in Guwahati. Of Clint’s shaky warm hand against his chest. And there he’s found it. That moment of absolute safety, complete rapture, and Phil holds on tight, presses his hand up against his chest and convinces himself that it is Clint’s.

He manages to sleep for an hour. When he wakes up, breath catching and mind breaking free of despair through the command to _wake up_ , clarity is found in the hand still pressed against his chest, in proof that Phil is alive and well, if slightly sleep deprived. He reminds himself that Charles can’t be wrong, that Phil is fine, if missing memories. He closes his eyes and reminds himself again and again and again until he’s asleep and then he forgets and all he wants is for them to let him die. So the cycle continues until his alarm rings and he almost jumps out of bed.

***

He spends the day in meetings, voice raw by the end of the day. Maria takes pity on him at one point and takes over certain meetings in return for two inches of paperwork. He spends lunch with a sandwich in hand, poring over sex pollen protocol (it’s apparently a thing). Clint finds him at eight in the evening and drags him to dinner. Phil isn’t hungry, but for Clint, he would eat a horse despite the nausea. Thankfully, the man only demands he eat a plate of macaroni and cheese, and drink some tea with honey, which soothes his throat. Clint looks as exhausted as Phil feels, and exceedinglyconcerned. He’s also quiet, which is so unlike him that Phil ends up asking repeatedly if something is the matter. Clint always answers no, and Phil always hears the lie.

That night, he gets ready for bed himself, though this time, he leaves his undershirt on until Clint leaves after extracting another promise of at least eight hours. Lying in bed, once again curled about with his hand on his chest, he falls asleep quickly, body and mind eager to rest, only to wake up an hour later. By the end of the night, he’s worse off that before and he wonders if it’s worth it to keep a promise to Clint that he won’t even know has been broken.

***

He spends the most of the next morning in a conference call with his team on the Bus, snapping at Melinda and being unnecessarily harsh with Fitz about a new gun. Later in the afternoon, he gets into a loud and rather childish argument about child care benefits with the SHIELD’s CFO, who, despite being six feet tall and built like Thor, leaves the meeting room in tears.

Phil realizes he needs a break. He swiftly packs up his laptop and leaves the office before Clint can come find him.

It’s been days since he’s left the Hub, but he just couldn’t be bothered. So he puts on a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and leaves the compound for a long and exhausting run to tire himself out. He manages a quarter marathon and makes it back to the Hub by nine in the evening, completely worn out and hoping the exhaustion would prevent him from dreaming.

If only that were the case. The second time he wakes up screaming, he pushes the bed covers away and heads to the bathroom on wobbly legs, using the bed and nearby desk as handholds. He takes a hot shower, puts on a fresh pair of boxers, brushes his teeth, and promptly cuts himself while shaving.

Sudden rage gushes out of his every pore, and the blade goes hurling to the ground, fist smashing into the mirror in front of him. The shattered reflection in front of him isn’t someone he knows anymore. Phil is so tired, he’s so tired and he just wants to sleep for once without remembering or dreaming. He crumples to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest.

He’s just so tired.

There’s a shuffling coming from his room and the door handle to the bathroom turns. Phil takes in the shards from the mirror, the blade on the ground, and remembers that he has a gun hidden inside the cupboard under the sink. He knows all of that, but his body refuses to move with him, refuses to defend him. It would take but a fraction of a second to grab the gun and face his opponent, but tonight he doesn’t have the energy for that.

“Phil?” He knows that voice well. His eyes are cloudy but there’s a man, hair blond as ash with kaleidoscope eyes and Clint- that’s Clint. “What happened?”

“Tired,” he mumbles, eyes closing. They jerk open a moment later, as images of an operating table and a machine working on his brain flood his mind. Why isn’t there a scar? There should be a scar on his head, they had scalped him! He pushes himself up and flails gracelessly, attempting to use the sink as a handhold only to fail miserably. Warm hands wrap around his shoulders and push him back down on the floor.

“Calm down, let me just-“

“There should be a scar, why don't -?” Why hadn’t this occurred to him before? There was no scar on his forehead. Now that it’s occurred to him, he can’t let it go. What if he is a clone? Is that what Nick is hiding from him? “Where’s-“

“Phil. It’s Clint, everything’s going to be ok. I need to you calm down and stay still.”

Clint. It's Clint. Clint wouldn't let anything happen to him. Clint will take care of everything.

The fight drains out of him quickly, too tired to continue. Clint sighs, then stands up. Phil is too tired to see what he’s doing, but a moment later, he’s back in front of Phil, a bowl of water and a wet cloth in hand. Phil’s eyes find and lose focus multiple times a minute, but he manages to keep his eyes open while Clint rinses and soaps out his cut knuckles. Something’s not right, it doesn’t make sense, but his mind can’t put things together right now. The water begins to cool but it’s all right, Clint’s hands are warm. Once all his cuts have been tended to, Clint pulls him upright. “Ok, shall we try to sleep?”

No, he tried sleeping already, all it did was bring back the “-demons.”

“Then I’ll keep watch.” Phil should argue, tell Clint he doesn’t owe him anything, he’s all right on his own. But it's Clint. Clint is Phil's universal truth, and he can't argue with that while surrounded by so many lies. So the words don’t come and Phil simply nods. Soon, Phil is lying on the bed, curled up on his side and facing Clint, who is sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Phil presses his hand against his chest, welcoming the feeling of safety though he doesn't remember why it feels that way. It’s dark, but Phil can hear the two of them breathing in tandem. “Try to sleep Phil, I’m keeping watch remember?” Phil closes his eyes and everything begins to fade.

_The sun is bright and his muscles ache from the massage, but it’s a good ache and he welcomes it. The masseuse keeps him talking while working through a particularly difficult area and his eyes blink open suddenly and it’s pitch black._

_It’s cold and Dr. Streiten shouts, “This is wrong!”_ and then he’s being shaken gently. It’s pitch black but Clint’s hands are warm and his arms are safe and Phil shouldn’t, they’re friends not lovers, but Phil needs and Clint understands so he’s the first to wrap those arms around him, firm and solid and steady.

“Go to sleep, I’m keeping watch,” Clint whispers, lips brushing against his neck as he speaks and it’s blazing hot and deathly cold, the burning in his skin in chorus with the shivers down his spine. Clint pulls away slightlyto pull the covers up to Phil’s nose before wiggling back into his position. “Go to sleep, I've got your back.”

And Phil does. Then again and again he dreams but Clint pulls him out every time. He sleeps secure in the warm hands and near silent breath.

When morning comes, Phil wakes to find himself cradling Clint's hand against his chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Phil is exhausted but he can finally think straight and now he wonders where Clint had come from last night. A quick glance at the ceiling confirms his hypothesis that his current bedmate had been in the vents, and Phil doesn’t know exactly what to think about that. Of course, the movement wakes Clint and he uses his other hand to gently shake Phil by the shoulder, as if to awaken him. “Wake up, it’s okay” he mumbles. “I’m here, you’re safe.”

“Clint.”

Clint cracks an eye open, then the other. He tenses and blushes, pulling away. “Sorry. God, I swear I’m not a creep.”

“I’ve known you for too many years for you to ever believe that, Barton,” Phil smirks, hoping the lighthearted sentence would ease the quickly building tension.

Clint snorts. He sits up and looks at his hands now resting in his lap. “You probably figured out I was in your vents by now. Em.” He pauses, still refusing to meet Phil’s eyes. “I’m not trying to stalk you or anything, I just, I wanted to be able to wake you when you were stuck in the nightmares, and tapping on the vents tended to do that, so...” So it _was_ Clint, and not just his dreams that woke him up the last few days. Clint himself must not be getting all that much sleep then. _And_ he’d been climbing into the vents with that arm. Phil can’t believe he didn’t notice this earlier.

“Clint, please look at me,” Phil appeals, sitting up and turning to face his former asset. He waits until Clint meets his eyes before continuing, “I’m not angry. If anything, I’m grateful. Last night was the longest and best sleep I’ve had in a long time because you woke me up before the- before it got worse,” Phil pauses for a moment so he can sit cross legged on the bed and properly face Clint. “I’m just a bit confused. Be honest with me. Because this, and I know I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, this is not your fault. This is Fury and his scientists’ fault, and my own for giving them permission to experimentwith untested procedures on me.Are you doing just this because you feel responsible? Because I don’t want your help if it’s just guilt.”

Clint visibly shakes at that. “No, I-”He swallows. It takes a moment before he continues, “I just got you back... you were- are one of my best friends, and you’re not sleeping well. You look completely exhausted and I- I want to help because I want to, not because I feel like I have to.”

“But you don’t have to, you understand that? This is not your fault.”

“I want to,” Clint repeats, clearly sidestepping Phil's statement. He’s so touched by Clint’s honesty that he lets it go. This is something that’s going to take time, and if it takes telling Clint it’s not his fault for the next twenty years, Phil will do it, should he live that long.

“I really appreciate it,” Phil says in the end. “You must be exhausted, why don’t you sleep here for a while? You know my passwords. I’m going to get to work for a while.”

“Phil, it’s Saturday,” Clint says.

“Yes, but I have protocols to write and appointments with government leaders that need to be organized, you know how it is,” Phil replies while climbing out of bed. A hand at his wrist stops him. He sits back down and turns to look at Clint.

“It’s a Saturday, and those are things that can wait a day. When was the last time you left the compound?”

“Yesterday,” Phil replies smugly. “I went for a jog.”

“Right, and before that?”

Before that... he doesn’t know. Probably the mission with Kitty Pryde. Something must show on his face because Clint nods decisively, lets go of Phil’s wrist and gets out of bed. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to go take a shower and change, then I’m going to the infirmary to have my dressing changed. You’re going to get ready and meet me there, and we’re getting the hell out of this place. Deal?”

“I can’t, Clint. I have work, and since Fury’s flying to London today, I have the opportunity to dig through some files because he’s clearly hiding more.” He remembers the realization he had earlier. There is scarring that’s missing. This doesn’t make sense but Nick is the greatest liar there is, and Phil needs to find out what’s going on.

“You asked me for help in finding out more, because you didn’t know who to trust. I trust Tony. Let’s go to the Tower and have Tony dig through SHIELD, he’ll find it faster than either of us will. And if not, you can do it tomorrow, Fury’s not going to be back that fast.” Phil remembers Nick telling him to stay away from Avengers Tower, but then Nick’s not in the country. He knows he’s breaking half a dozen protocols and clearances here, but if Clint trusts Tony, then Phil thinks he can too.

“All right, let’s meet in a half hour then?”

Clint grins and leaves through the front door, momentarily pausing to squeeze Phil on the shoulder. Phil cleans up the bathroom first, throwing away the razor and carefully collecting the glass on the floor. He takes a piss, brushes his teeth and rips off the bandages on his hands and chin. Phil returns to his room to pull out a new suit, a dark navy one with pinstripes along with a white shirt and a lighter blue tie and his favourite Brogue shoes. He grabs his suitcase with the medical files, and makes his way to the mess hall.

Grabbing two cups of coffee and two pineapple coconut scones, he reaches the infirmary to find Clint asleep in the waiting room in jeans and a Hulk t-shirt. “Dr. Song wanted to see the wound, it’ll be just a couple minutes,” the nurse at the desk tells him. He settles in beside Clint, who comes awake.

“Coffee?”

“I could marry you,” Clint blurts, grabbing his coffee and gulping down half of it in a go. Phil’s heart threatens to jump out of his chest.

Before Phil can form any sort of response, Dr. Song shows up and leads them to the examination room. The wound is healing well, and Clint may need to wear the compression garment for a few months if he wants it to heal properly, and obviously, “No field clearance, not yet.”

They leave with more pain medication and antibiotics. They walk to the garage and get into the red Impala with the STARK 9 license plate. The drive to Avengers Tower is quiet, but comfortable, the way they used to always be.

“Welcome back, Agent Coulson.” JARVIS says in the elevator, “May I say how glad I am to see that reports of your death were greatly exaggerated?”

“Seriously, JARVIS? That’s the best you could come up with?” Clint asks, “I thought Tony built you.”

“Well, I try not to follow Sir in social protocol, it never ends well.”

Clint laughs out loud, “Good thinking, darling.”

Phil smiles at the camera, “And I agree with that sentiment. Thank you, JARVIS. So am I.”

The moment they make it out of the elevator, Phil finds himself in front of the red-headed fury that is Pepper Potts. She slaps him, obviously.

“I cannot believe you! God, I am so mad at you. Friends don't do that to each other!” She sobs before coming forward and wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so glad,” she whispers, before leaning away. “Now don’t do that to me ever again. I’m going to go take a nap. France is always fun, but it is exhausting.” She turns to Clint saying, “I got you something, by the way,” before digging through her purse and pulling out [a plastic purple dragon holding a bow and arrow](http://th06.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/292/0/b/hawkeye_dragon_by_imbecamiel-d580axf.png). 

“I dunno Pepper, 's this one gonna burn me too?” Clint asks, taking an exaggerated leap backwards.

She giggles, “No, I made sure of that,” and hands the toy over. She kisses him on the cheek before stepping into the elevator. “You take good care of that arm, Hawkeye.”

“Will do!” Clint salutes as the door closes, then turns back to Phil. “All right, let’s go find our shellhead.”

Tony is sitting on the floor and cleaning DUM-E, who’s covered in some sort of green slime, when JARVIS lets them into the lab. He doesn’t look up. “Pepper, I told you, I can’t work on the phone prototypes without DUM-E, go to sleep.”

“What did you do to DUM-E?” Clint asks, walking over to the bot to sit beside him. “Hey buddy, what did your daddy do to you?”

“Huh? You’re not Pepper,” Tony says dumbly.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” Clint replies. Phil stays near the door, not wanting to intrude.

“And I didn’t do anything to DUM-E! He spilled it on himself!” Tony says defensively, “See, this is why you’re going to wear the dunce cap next, DUM-E.” He looks up at Clint, “What do you want? Suit’s not ready yet and- OH! I have new arrows!”

“He’s not allowed to shoot for very long yet,” Phil interjects, and Tony finally notices him.

“Oh, well if it isn’t the Agents’ Agent. What do you want? And no, you’re not moving in here. No ghosts allowed in Avengers Tower. We had this discussion last year, I think.”

“Okay, that was one time and Billy promised not to do it anymore. So shut your pie hole and let it go. We want access some classified files from SHIELD. You gonna help us or not?” Clint asks before Phil can reply, rubbing DUM-E’s base absentmindedly.

“What? Don’t you have clearance for like, everything?” Tony asks as he stands up, rag thrown over his shoulder.

“I’m only level eight, Mr. Stark.”

“Urgh, don’t call me that anymore. Steve keeps looking at me all funny when people do that. Tony’s fine, or, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Tony waves him away. “What exactly do you need access to?”

“I don’t know exactly. Fury hid a lot about my death from me. I don’t understand all of it.” Phil takes a deep breath and comes closer, the door sliding shut and locking automatically behind him. Clint trusts Tony, so Phil can trust him. “Initially, I was told that I was dead for eight seconds before they revived me and put me in stasis. I recently discovered that to be a lie. I was actually dead for five days.”

“Funny. That’s hilarious,” Tony snarks. "Are you really wasting my time with jokes that aren't even funny? I have the highest hourly rates on the plant."

“That is the truth, Tony.”

The inventor looks up at him with wide eyes. “That’s impossible.”

“Not so much.”

“But it can’t... how did they...”

“I don’t know how they did it, and I don’t understand half the things in the file Director Fury gave me, but I know he’s not telling me everything. I need to know if there’s more he’s hiding from me about my own death.” From the corner of his eye, he sees how suddenly tense Clint has become and wants to kick himself for reminding Clint of things he evidently wasn’t ready to face.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. I’ll see what I can dig up,” Tony says, heading over to the nearest holotable. “JARVIS, let’s dig.” He turns to Phil and says, “But I’m not doing this for you, jackass. I just like it when Fury’s eye starts twitching.”

“I appreciate it either way.”

“Thanks, Tony.” Clint says quietly from under DUM-E.

“Yeah, yeah.Anything else?”

Phil says no the same time that Clint says yes. Tony and Phil both stare at Clint, who looks up. “I was wondering, you know how last time I had a concussion, Bruce and JARVIS ran tests on me and my brainwaves or something to make sure everything was fine? Can we do that again with Phil? Just to make sure he’s okay?” Phil tenses up, but forces himself to relax. After all, what could they possible find that Charles couldn’t?

“That’s unnecessary Clint, I met with Professor Xavier a couple weeks ago, he said everything was fine.” Clint shoots him a look that says _we both know that’s not true_ , and Phil shrugs.

“Excuse me, whatever Charles can do, I can do a thousand times better, it’s all just physics and brainwaves anyway,” Tony says from the holotable, clearly offended.

Phil does not roll his eyes, instead focusing on Clint.Clint walks towards him and begins speaking in a low voice. “There’s no one at SHIELD we can trust with this. Bruce is a good guy, he can keep things under lock and key, believe me.” Phil believes him, but he has his answer from Charles about his brain. It’s not his brain that’s the problem, it’s Nick’s lies. On the other hand, Clint has that look in his eyes that means there’s no way Phil is winning this battle, so he relents.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Clint brightens up, a hand coming to squeeze his own quickly before letting go. “JARVIS, where’s Bruce?”

“Across the hall, Master Barton.”

“Seriously, Mr. Smith, this ain’t cute anymore,” Clint shoots back with a grin.

“Apologies, Miss Swan. Shall I ask him to come over?” JARVIS replies nonchalantly.

“Touché, babe,” Clint allows. “No, let’s leave Tony to work, we’ll go over there.”

Phil follows Clint into the nearby lab to find Bruce surrounded by three holotables, all running different programs and models by the look of it.

“Hey, Bruce,” Clint says. “You got a minute?”

“Hmm?” Bruce looks up, sees the two of them. “Of course, come in. Clint, how are you? How’s the arm?” he asks warmly, walking over to take a look at it. After a quick but thorough once over, he looks satisfied. Then he offers a hand to Phil expression cooler, “Good morning, Agent Coulson.”

“Good morning, Dr. Banner.”Bruce asks him.

“SHIELD doesn't need you, Dr. Banner, I was actually hoping if you could do me a favour.” Phil explains the situation to Bruce, ending with, “So we were wondering if you could just have a look and make sure everything is alright?”

Bruce is quiet for a moment. Then he looks Phil straight in the eye, and there’s a warmth there that wasn’t there before, “Thank you for trusting me with this sensitive information. I’m quite sure I don’t have clearance for it. Please, call me Bruce. I’m not a medical doctor, but I can run some simple diagnostics.”

“I still think we could replace medics with your tech.”

“No, Clint,” Bruce and Phil respond simultaneously, exchanging smiles.

“Thank you, Bruce. Phil is fine.”

Bruce directs Phil to the fourth holotablein the room, and asks him to stand in front of it. “I’m just going to run brainwave analysis and make sure it’s all running smoothly.” Bruce explains, fingers flitting through the holograms so quickly that Phil gives up trying to follow. Clint settles in top of a worktable behind Bruce, watching apprehensively.

After a few moments, Bruce smiles and looks back at Phil as he pushes his glasses up. “I'm comparing them to the records JARVIS had before. Brainwaves are reading normal, everything’s all right in there. Now let’s just run a quick physical diagnostic, it needs a couple minutes and then we should have a hologram to work with.” Phil releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He had known there was nothing to worry about.

Bruce does something and the beginning of holographic simulation of a body begins to form on the desk. After a few moments, Bruce leans back, to look at the forming hologram from another angle. Then he takes his glasses off and looks again, eyes widening. A heavy weight begins to form in the bottom of Phil’s stomach; he thinks he’s going to throw up. Something’s not right. “Is something the matter, Bruce?”

He can’t understand the image well, though he’s trying. Bruce looks up, then shakes his head. “I’m not sure. I think I need Tony.” He minimises the 3D image and walks out of his lab, but Phil hears him take off at a run the moment he was out of sight. Something’s not right, Phil knows it, and there’s a fine tremor in his right hand. He looks at Clint, who is looking back at him with wide eyes.

“It’s okay, Phil. Whatever it is, we’re going to fix it, okay?”

Before Phil can reply, Tony and Bruce come back and they fiddle with the holotable until a full 3D image opens up. It’s humanoid, but clearly machine. “Bruce, you know we scrapped the program because it was inhumane. Why are you showing me the LMD prototype now?” Phil feels ill.

“Because this,” Bruce says, opening up the now almost complete diagnostic model of Phil’s body, “almost identical.”

Tony gasps. “Those bastards.” They both turn to Phil in silence.

Clint though, he jumps off the table. “What’s an LMD?”  

Phil walks closer to the desk. “That’s impossible. I’m not an LMD. I talked to Professor Xavier, my neural patterns are the same as before the attack. He confirmed it.” Charles had confirmed it, he’d said everything was fine. Phil grasps the table for support. He can’t be a machine, he’s been exhausted and hungry and bleeding and broken. Machines can’t do that.

Tony looks at the two models and then at Phil. “LMDs are supposed to have the same neural patterns so that telepaths don’t discover them. They’re supposed to pass completely as humans in all situations.”

“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Clint interrupts. “What. Is. An. LMD?”

Phil can’t do this. This is madness. He can’t be a machine, he can’t be a thing, he had the scar, he’d masturbated _. Pass completely in all situations_ , he had dreamt. “But I can dream! I am not an LMD. I dream. I saw the old plans, none of your LMDs dreamt because they had to charge while they slept.”

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Clint shouts finally, coming to stand beside Phil.

Bruce looks at Clint, and lays a hand on his arm. Phil can’t look at Clint. “Clint, Phil, maybe you should both sit down.”

“Tell me what’s happening,” Clint grits out again.

Tony sighs. “LMD stands for Life Model Decoys. They’re my prototypes, part organic, part electronic copies of people, in order to protect important individuals. I... I thought we could use them for presidents or something.”

“And?”

“Well, the model of Coulson’s diagnostic is almost an exact copy of my prototype from last year.”

“What, are you telling me Coulson’s a machine? Look at him, he’s not, he’s just like I remember him, a person.”

“They’re copies, Clint- they’re supposed to be just like the real person. They have their memories, everything. They’re basically the real thing. He’s like JARVIS. He’s not organic, but he’s just as real,” Tony argues back. “The whole reason I scrapped the idea was because they were just as real as the people they were supposed to impersonate and killing them would have been murder.”

This is too much. “But I told Nick. I told him that they could test on me, but I didn’t want to be an LMD. I told him! I've had dreams. Your LMDs can’t dream, Tony.” His knees are wobbly, he’s not going to be able to stand for long.

Bruce notices and brings him a chair to sit in. Clint has a hand on his shoulder. It’s shaking.

“That’s why I said it’s not the same as my prototype. None of my prototypes dream, you’re right about that, and none of them believed they were the real deal, they knew they were LMDs. This is...I need to have a closer look, open up the motherboard maybe-“

“Tony!” Bruce reprimands. Motherboard. Right. A computer. A machine. A thing. He’s not a person. Phil wonders what happened to his real body. Maybe it did die, maybe it couldn’t survive what the machine did to his brain and they copied his brain and stuck him in here. It explains the lack of scarring on his forehead.

Clint tenses though. “Get the hell away from him, Tony. You are not opening him up. You just said he’s like the real thing. He _is_ the real thing.” Phil can’t believe it though, because he’s not. He’s not real. He’s been lying to Clint again. But he didn’t know he wasn’t real. _I’m here_ , he’d said. But he’s not. Nick Fury has succeeded in making a liar out of him yet again.

“Phil?” Clint crouches in front of him. “Phil? Stay with me. You’re real, you’re not just a machine. Tony just said it, so you got a new body, it’s still you. Come on, Phil. Snap out of it. Phil!” But Phil can’t. He’s not the same. He’s programmed code, everything he’s thinking and feeling, they’re all just commands. Clint has both his hands on his face. “Phil. Phil, please. Come on, please. Don’t blank out on me.” Blank out? Maybe the code is having a glitch, Phil thinks, it’s too much for the system to handle. Maybe he’ll, no IT, will shut down. What if he does, what then? And what about Clint? Was that code as well?

“Phil!”

Was his love for Clint just combinations of ones and zeros now? Is that what his love had become? He doesn’t want this. Not that. He'd always believed that the best part of himself was his capability to feel so much. Now that's corrupted as well.He can feel Clint’s hands, one wrapped and the other free, textured and soft, was that just code. Then suddenly there’s pain from one side of his face.

Tony shouts, “What the hell, Barton!” Phil finally focuses on the kaleidoscope eyes in front of him. God, Clint is so beautiful. Was that code as well? He can’t stop asking himself that question. Ones and zeroes defining that those eyes whose colours refused identification as simply beautiful. His face stings where Clint just slapped him.

“Phil? It’s okay. I got you. You’re real. Please, just say something. Anything.”

It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. He wishes Clint had never seen him that day. He wishes he’d never learned the truth.

“Phil, please. What do you need me to do, Phil?”

“Take me back to the Hub,” he finally says. He needs to talk to Maria, to anyone who will tell him why they would go to such lengths.

“No. Stay here. It’s safer. Don’t tell me you actually trust SHIELD right now,” Tony interrupts.

“Fury ordered me not to come to the Tower. Hill will call him.”

“Let her, they stole my tech and used it without my permission. Wait till I find some proof on their servers. They’re going to be looking at a hefty law suit if they even think about barging in here” Tony huffs.

Phil doesn’t care. Phil looks at Clint, who’s still holding his face with both his hands, face pinched with worry. He seems to have made a mental decision because he takes a breath, then says, “Okay, we’re going to my room, Tony and Bruce are going to make sure things are okay, right?” He turns to look at the two of them.

“Yes, definitely. My program will be done with the search in a few hours. I’ll have JARVIS call you down later.”

“Thank you,” Phil says, working on autopilot now. Maybe the LMD really is on autopilot, he thinks wryly.

Clint lets go and Phil stands up, forcing his knees to hold him. They’re silent in the elevator, and all the way to Clint’s private rooms. “I have my own apartment here. I usually don’t use it because I have a room on the communal floor from back when we first moved here. Let’s just stay here, ok?” Clint says as JARVIS opens the door to the apartment.

Phil nods and follows him in. Clint makes him sit on the couch and brings him a glass of water. “Drink,” he orders, and Phil follows blindly. He hands the glass back to Clint, exchanging warmth as their fingers touch, and Clint asks, “What can I do? Tell me what to do to help. Please?”

Phil wants to hold Clint, wants to hold Clint down and fuck him hard and long until he can convince himself he’s human and alive and real, wants Clint to kiss every inch of his body and run his hands up and down until Phil’s warm again and he doesn’t have the self control to stop right now. He’s going to hurt Clint, going to harm this marvellous perfect being more than he already has, so he leans away from Clint and says, “I would like to be alone.”

Clint is hurt, that’s obvious, but he nods and leans forward, squeezing Phil’s knee. Phil bites his lip so he doesn’t lean forward and claim his mouth. “Of course. I’m going to be out on the balcony until you call me, eh?” He pauses, as if unsure of whether to say anything further. Then he takes both Phil’s hands into his own and says, “You’re real. You are. You’re the same Phil I’ve always known.”

Phil knows Clint is just trying to help but it takes all of him not to use the grip on his hands to pull him closer and touch and claim so he pulls his hands away and nods.

He knows the truth now. He watches as Clint walks to the balcony, swallowing hard.

Things are not going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this time, hopefully it makes up for the long wait! Now that this chapter is out, I can finally say it. This entire fic came from me wondering if Phil was an LMD.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When confronting SHIELD, having the Director in another country is always a bonus.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** Thoughts of suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to ereshai my beta!

It’s freezing. Clint hadn’t thought of taking a jacket with him when he’d walked out onto the balcony, but he doesn’t want to bother Phil. Phil hasn’t moved in the last fifteen minutes, still in shock. He hasn’t even unbuttoned his jacket.

Phil.

Calm, steady Phil who Clint had been able to lean on for so long. Until he’d died, and Clint had lost his fucking mind. Until Clint murdered those who considered him a friend and became exactly the thing he had never wanted to become. He had promised himself he wouldn’t become like Trickshot and Barn- he had failed. He'd also promised to work on letting go of the blame- but today just seems to be a day for failures.

Nothing had hurt like sitting in the infirmary and having Natasha tell him that Loki had killed Phil Coulson. He’d thrown up bile-there was nothing else in his stomach; Loki hadn’t given him permission to eat-then forced himself not to break down as Steve came in and told him to suit up. One day turned into another; time passed and Clint learned to live with a hole in his chest, to patch up a gaping wound with a Band-Aid and move on, or at least fake it till he made it. So he kept going. For Natasha first, then for Tony, Bruce, Steve and Thor. Then for Logan and Jessica and Bobbi and Kate and all the others. Without Bobbi, he probably would have killed himself, but he'd made it so far.

But you can’t fix a bleeding wound in your chest by putting a bandage on your head, or he’d still be with Bobbi. So he got used to it, and moved on. Then Phil, Phil with the kind blue eyes, Phil who knows how to knot a tie in nine different ways, Phil with his house full of books and Captain America memorabilia, his Phil came back. Phil, who came back because Phil Coulson always came back for his assets, even long after his death. Phil, who doesn’t think Clint is to blame. Someone had finally put a damn pressure bandage on the stab wound that was his death and gave him back to Clint.

But strong, steady Phil isn’t so strong anymore. He needs someone to lean on and Clint has loved Phil for so long he’s given up trying to stop, so of course he’s there. But he doesn’t know how to help. It’s a fucking mess and Clint hates being the dumb one in the group again. Clint doesn’t have the right words to make Phil understand that this is okay. That he’s just as real as Tony. If Clint can be friends with JARVIS and love DUM-E, Butterfingers and YOU as much as he loves Tony, why would it be any different with Phil whom he loves infinite times more?

As if the absence of an organic body meant anything. Phil is still himself. Phil still looks out for Clint and likes his coffee thick and black. Yes, he has weaknesses and new nightmares but dying can change a person. Clint knows- he died in Budapest for four seconds. It’s not the same and it never will be, but dying changes a person, exchanging blood and flesh for metal and plastic does not. He doesn’t get the science of it, why would he, he hadn't gotten his GED until he was 29. But he gets people. He gets the way Phil took care of him that first night in Bed Stuy, Phil’s need for him to stop blaming himself- Phil loves him, that Clint knows. He’s not in love with Clint, but Phil loves Clint, just as DUM-E and all of Tony’s other children love Tony and there is no difference there. No difference at all, if only Phil could understand that. If only Clint could find the right words to make Phil understand that this changes nothing.

Instead he waits outside, angry and scared and confused. Two hours later, he comes back in when JARVIS calls him to go downstairs. He’s shivering, teeth chattering and Phil notices, face paling. “Have you been out there this whole time with just that t-shirt on? God, I’m so sorry.” He starts to grab Clint by the hands and then stops, unsure.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint tells him and holds his hand out. “Help me out here, boss man.” Phil comes close and wraps his arms around him. Clint has always run warmer than Phil, but the situation has been turned around just like so many things. Clint holds on tight, hands around Phil’s shoulders trying to convey with touch what he can’t with words. Phil moves his arms up and down to warm him up and Clint wants to shout, ‘How can you say you’re not real! Look at you! Your life fell apart and you’re still taking care of me! You’re the realest thing there is!’ but he doesn’t. He holds on tight as he can; it’s probably uncomfortable, but Clint doesn’t care. Phil pulls away first, looking guilty for no logical reason, and leads the way down to the workshop.

Both scientists are in Tony’s workshop now, wholly immersed in the work on their respective holotables until Clint opens the door and they both look up. “I got into their system. And you would not believe the shit they’ve stolen from me. Coulson, did you know?” Tony glares at him.

“No, I did not, Tony. I knew they were trying to recreate LMDs... but I didn't know they'd stolen the actual plans."

“Okay, good, because the rest of SHIELD is in so much trouble, like ‘forget the dunce cap, you’re all suspended’ sort of trouble I tell you.” And it’s obvious Tony’s about to go on a tirade, but Bruce leans over and grabs his arm and he stops. “Right. Here’s what I found. Specs for an LMD for you went as far back as 2011, when I’d come up with the idea, but a lot of the research wasn’t complete until some breakthroughs were made in August 2013.”

“But that doesn’t add up. Look at the dates on these operations,” Clint says, grabbing the suitcase that Phil had left behind earlier and pulling out his file. The scientists quickly look through the thick document.

“You’re right,” Tony says after a moment. “But what part of this medical file is even true? You yourself had none of these operations, so what’s happening here?”

“It’s possible that they tried to carry out these operations and failed, thus having you being transferred into an LMD.”

“Or it’s all fake,” Bruce suggests.

“That’s unlikely,” Phil interjects. “I had been implanted memories of physiotherapy in Tahiti which turned out to be covering up memories of these operations, how can the operations not have happened?”

“Well, they’re memories of what happened to your body, I suppose?” Tony reasons.

“So my... body failed and they just saved my brain patterns into this?”

“Maybe they put you back in stasis?” Clint asks.

“See, that’s the thing. When JARVIS went through level nine and higher files regarding Coulson or the Chitauri attack, all I’m finding is those about the LMD, and registration for a new stasis room, but it’s still listed as a storage room. Also, there’s a bunch of documents that have been heavily redacted, all I got out of that was the words neural relay, but then,” Tony moves from his holotable over to Bruce’s, “Bruce noticed something about the diagnostic.” He points to something on the hologram.

Bruce takes over for him, zooming in on the image until it was just the head. On the back of the metal skull, there is a separate object the size of a USB drive. “I found this on the skull, it’s an artificial neural relay device, and it’s active. Tony traced it as far as the Hub, but we can’t be more specific.”

Phil breathes in. “Are you telling me that my brain activity is being relayed from somewhere in the Hub?”

“We think your actual brain is controlling the LMD, and that’s why you’ve been having dreams, and why you didn’t realize you were an LMD. You might have less control of your non-organic parts than another LMD... I’m not sure. I never tested out any of my prototypes, you know that. I scrapped the idea for a reason.”

“I know, Tony. I’m sorry they used it without your permission,” Phil replies.

“I want an apology from R&D, and from Nick, not from someone who isn’t at fault.” Tony says.

“So now what, sneak into the Hub and try to find Phil’s... Phil?” Clint can’t say body, it sounds so wrong to him.

“That would be the plan, except I’d rather not come along and wreak havoc. It would be the three of you. Unless any of you are willing to talk to Steve, because he is the team captain and all.”

“This is not an Avengers mission; we don’t need Steve's permission to do things, Bruce,” Tony tells him.

“My permission for what now?” They all turn and there he is, Captain America, Steve Rogers, looking curious. DUM-E notices him and wheels forward. “Hey buddy,” Steve says to DUM-E and pats him on the arm before walking towards them. “I thought we were done with secrets, Tony.” (1)

Tony winces. “Steve, this isn’t.... it’s not my secret to share.”

Steve looks to the others in confusion. Phil sighs and turns to Tony. “It’s all right, you can tell him. I trust him. And he’s better undercover than you are, either way.”

Clint pretends to have not heard that. It’s not their fault they have no idea what undercover means.

Tony nods and turns back to Steve, walking towards him and grabbing a hand. “Do you remember when I explained to you what Life Model Decoys were?”

Steve nods, silent. “Well, a couple hours ago, I discovered that SHIELD stole my tech and used it to create them.”

“And so what, you want to march in to SHIELD? Do you have definitive proof they’ve been made and or exploited?”

“You’re looking at one right now,” says Phil dryly. Clint has no idea how Phil does it, remain so calm in front of the world while falling apart inside.

Steve falls silent, eyebrows raised. And Clint tenses. Tony hastens to explain the entire situation and by the end of it Steve is in a righteous fury. “How could they do that to you? Without your permission? How are they the people trusted with the safety of humanity when they do this to one of their own?”

“SHIELD takes care of the greater good,” Phil says defensively.

And Clint is so livid he begins to understand how Bruce feels when he Hulks out. “They still had no right. No right to do this.”

“We’re going to find that room, then we’re going to demand some explanations, and then we’re going to fix this. And afterwards, we’ll re-evaluate whether the Avengers Initiative need to be in any sort of alliance with SHIELD whatsoever,” Steve says, deceptively calm, thenturns to Tony, “Honey, could you show me the layout and possible pathways to the target, please?” Tony turns away, hiding his relief (badly) and pulls up blueprints for the Hub. It’s in a level eight restricted area, but hidden as a storage room. Getting in is easy enough for Phil, he has his access card, but neither Clint nor Steve have access. In the end, they come up with a plan and set off separately, Clint and Phil in one car, and Steve on his motorcycle.

It’s noon so Phil and Clint head to the mess hall for lunch, where Steve meets them, dressed in his uniform. At precisely 12:30 pm, the alarms go off, indicating a break in at SciTech, at which point all agents begin rushing in that direction. In Clint’s ear, he can hear Tony ranting to the SciTech agents about intellectual property rights and WIPO as the trio run with the crowd, staying in the back so they can detour into level eight restricted areas. The area is empty by the time they arrive. The door opens with Phil’s card, and the three of them sneak in. The alarms go off here as well, but SciTech is on the other side of the Hub, and they have enough time to make it to the storage room. It’s locked, and Phil’s ID card doesn’t help.

“Stand back,” Steve commands.

“That’s six inches of solid steel, Cap, are you sure?” Phil asks and Clint chuckles.

“I thought you of all people would have more faith in Steve, Phil,” he teases. Phil awards him a small smile as he moves out of the way.

Then Steve pushes the door open and Clint cannot take another breath. He can’t take another step, because inside, in a stasis chamber lays the frail, unconscious body of Phil Coulson. Clint’s frozen, but Phil looks worse off, so he forces himself to be stronger and fight the fear, walking towards Phil, the Phil that’s awake and in shock, because it’s one thing to discuss the possibility, it’s another to see it firsthand. Phil pushes him away and walks towards his body. Clint, hurt but unsurprised, follows, and Steve waits from him to pass through before following, comforting hand on his shoulder. Clint feels calmer already, but it’s Phil Clint’s worried about. He’s come to a standstill in front of the chamber. Clint moves closer, and the sound of the alarms is deafening but he can’t hear it anymore. All he can focus on is the beating heart of the unconscious man inside the stasis chamber, fragile and feeble, but obviously alive, with something similar to the X-men’s Cerebro covering his head. From where he’s standing, Clint can see a scar running across his forehead. It probably wouldn't be visible to anyone else, but Clint knows Phil's features too well to miss something like that.Phil turns back to Clint, eyes wild and shoulders hunched, arms wrapped protectively around himself.

There’s a commotion behind them. Eyes still focused on Phil, Clint pulls out his Glock and aims it at the door where Steve is also standing in a defensive stance. It’s Jasper and Maria Hill, who presses a code into the lock pad near the door and the alarms cease. She turns to her left and commands, “You don’t have authorization here, please leave.” There’s shuffling and the sound of agents leaving. Clint puts his gun away, but Steve remains in adefensiveposition.

Jasper walks in first, and he takes his glasses off, eyes widening. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Hill sighs and walks in as well, shutting the door behind her. “Agent Sitwell, you don’t have authorization to be here.However, considering the circumstances, welcome to level eight.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Jasper asks, looking between the standing Phil and the Phil on the bed.

“Don’t panic, it’s me,” Tony says into their comms before the door is forced open behind them. “The meaning behind this, is that SHIELD stole LMD tech from me, and then used it on Coulson without his permission. Except I don’t understand why you’re not using his body considering his vital signs are reading well. Well, except for-“

“His brain.There’s changes in brain activity. That is to say, he’s breathing and functioning, but he won’t wake up,” Hill finishes. "Phil, you have to know. I was against this idea the whole time. But Fury was adamant. I’m so sorry,” she sighs and turns so she's facing everyone. “We thought we were going to lose him, so Fury ordered the use of an LMD, except instead of copying his brain patterns, they just became connected. Once you were healed completely, we tried to wake you up, but we couldn’t. And we couldn’t complete the transfer.”

“So now you need his body because if anything happens to him, the LMD would no longer be functional, hence the stasis chamber,” Tony extrapolates from inside his suit.

“Correct.”

“So were those files I got from Fury all a lie?” Coulson asks, voice deceptively composed.

“No. You had those operations, but you’d lost your will to live, and we thought you wouldn’t make it.We tried the transfer to give you happy memories and let you continue living.”

“Even though I explicitly asked that no LMD be created of me, evenif the opportunity ever arose?” ThisispureAgentCoulson, notPhil, andClintknowsfromexperiencethatthisisaslivid as Agent Coulson gets.

“I was only following orders.”

_Because no one's ever used that excuse before._

“You already said that. So that was the plan, let his body sleep so he could live on as an LMD? After all the pain you put him through?”

Hill blanches, but has no answer.

Jasper, who’s been silent all this time, finally speaks up. “But why can’t you break the link? There’s clearly a connection between the two bodies, right?”

“It should be possible, considering the fact that when Coulson is asleep, higher brain activity is detected in here.”

“When I’m asleep? I dream. LMD’s aren’t supposed to be capable of that,” Coulson adds.

“Yes, we know. But we don’t know how to keep you in your body other than through sleep. And even then, your body in here doesn’t wake up. Believe me, Phil, we’ve tried everything.”

“Except ask for help from the person who actually created LMDs,” Tony sneers. “I am sick and tired of all your idiotic excuses. If it’s all right with Coulson, and only Coulson, because this is his body we’re talking about here, I’m taking him back to Avengers Tower, and we’re going to fix this ourselves.”

“Unacceptable. Coulson stays here,” Hill says firmly.

“It’s like you’re hearing impaired, lady. Unless you’re Coulson, you don’t get a say in what happens to his body,” Tony snaps. “Phil?”

“Yes, that would be acceptable. Thank you.”

“No, it would not, I never wanted it to come to this, but the LMD is SHIELD property and taking it is theft.” Hill realizes a moment after she says what she’s just said and cringes. Tony stares at her for a moment open-mouthed. Phil looks resigned, as if he was expecting this. Clint, Clint wants to put an arrow through one of Hill's eyes.

“Property?” Jasper asks, voice raised. “He’s a person, Hill. You can’t own hi-”

Tony finally snaps out of it and interrupts, “Theft? You want to talk theft? How about the hundreds of billions of dollars you’re going to own me for stealing from my company? It’s my technology, you stole from me, and you think you have the right to talk about theft? About a sentient being?”

“Tony, please,” Steve says. “AD Hill, this isn’t a negotiation, Agent Coulson is coming with us. Please prepare medical transportation. You’re not going to win this.”

Hill nods in defeat. “Sitwell, get a med van for Agent Coulson. I did my part, but Director Fury will definitely be in contact as soon as he returns from London.”

“He can do whatever the hell he wants,” Steve replies. The agents leave and Tony pulls himself out of the suit, lettingit fold back into a suitcase. Steve walks over to Tony and pulls him into a slow kiss, whispering, “Baby, you’re all kinds of amazing, you know that?” and Clint turns away, focusing on Phil.

“Phil?”

“She had a point, you know. Technically, I am SHIELD property.”

Clint wants to shake Phil until he understands that that’s just not true. Suddenly he's angry that Phil, Phil who's always been smarter and better at Clint that everything. Why doesn't he get it? “How can you say that? You’re a person, not some object to be owned!”

Phil looks ready to argue about it, but then med team arrives and Steve decides to go with them, ready to argue with them on any point. Clint promises to drive the motorcycle back, passing the car keys to Tony. He’s driving a little recklessly, he knows, but he’s angry at himself and at Phil, so he drives around the city for a while, fills up on gas, washes the bike and brings her home to the Tower. He’s sure the med van has reached the Tower by now. He makes it upstairs, now in a terrible mood and runs to the situation room when his Avenger ID cards goes off in the garage.

He finds most of the team, excluding Logan, in the situation room along with Coulson. Jasper is absent. “Do I need to be here for this?” he asks Steve, pointedly ignoring Coulson. He’s goingtohatehimselfforitlater, but Clint needs to get his thoughts together. Away from Phil.

“I would appreciate it, but not really, you know the situation already,”

Clint nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. He needs to shoot, but he’s not allowed to for more than half an hour, and he won’t stop if he starts. Instead, he goes back to his apartment, grabs a bottle of vodka and settles in the balcony, this time with another terrible blanket he and Natasha had made.. An hour later, Natasha joins him. She steals the vodka and most of the blanket, but she holds him and lets him cry even though her shoulder is still healing and probably hurts a lot by now.

“They’re going to fix this, Clint. Bobbi working with Tony and Bruce? Come on, it’ll be easy as pie.”

“What if something happens to his body before then?” Clint voices his new greatest fear.

“We won’t let that happen, Clint. We’re the Avengers. We don't fail.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) For those interested, it's not a civil war reference, just so we're clear. It's Avengers Vol. 4, and Steve discovering the Illuminati for the first time and all that...my head canons have the bad habit of taking over everything.
> 
> Also, I killed my darlings in this chapter, it hurt. But it was needed. Just thought I should mention. Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil avoids Clint, and there is a conflict.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings** : Suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai for the beta, though I should say that I added another 600 words while reading it over again, so any mistakes you find in there are mine, apologies!

Hours after the conversation with the Avengers, Phil finds himself changing into one of Clint's spare suits. Taking his suitcase, he leaves the bedroom to search for Clint, who is fast asleep on the balcony, covered in warm blanket. He doesn't stir when Phil opens the balcony door with another blanket in hand, either far too exhausted or far too trusting. Not wanting to wake him, Phil tucks the blanket under him carefully and leaves a note on the kitchen table.

The Hub is a stark reminder of what had been done to him, but staying at the Tower isn't an option; he doesn't know how to talk to Clint just yet. Phil doesn't have an apartment of his own; he hadn't had the need considering his classified status, but this leaves him with a single place to go, the Bus. The team is preparing to leave for Ho Chi Minh City as he arrives. He makes it upstairs and changes into a better suit, one that doesn't smell like Clint's aftershave.

After reaching cruising altitude, he lets Melinda brief the team. It's a 21 hour flight, so FitzSimmons and Skye head off to bed after the briefing, Ward begins cleaning his weapons on the dining room table. Phil returns to his office and begins to work through his e-mails, not bothering to try and get some shut eye. He doesn’t need sleep, not really. He’s a machine, and machines don’t need sleep.

Two hours into their flight, Nick calls him on the satellite phone. It goes like this.

_“I thought I told you to stay away from the Tower.”_

“I asked you for one thing, Nick.”

_“I know. I’m not sorry.”_

“I figured.”

_“Are you leaving SHIELD?”_

“No.” It's not really a lie, not yet.

_“Then I’ll see you in a week, agent.”_

Phil hangs up. It's always like this. All the righteous anger he feels dissipates when he hears Nick's voice because it's Nick. It's the Marcus Johnson he's known for so long. He wonders what happened to the friend he went to war with, whether all the righteousness of the soldier was lost the moment he became Nick Fury, whether Phil was any different. Not anymore, he supposes.

It's a milk run, really. Phil stays in the Bus as the team heads out to stop a terrorist group from using teleportation technology to execute an attack on the President. They return six hours later with the weapons dealer Andras Bertesy in tow. On their way back to New York, they receive intelligence about a stolen terrigen crystal in Australia. To take Bertesy off of their hands, John Garrett meets them mid-flight with his asset Agent Triplett.

It's been a while. Phil isn't in the mood to talk to friends, but he's known John for nearly twenty years, so when the man asks to have a moment alone, he acquiesces. Ward and "Trip" deal with prisoner transfer, while Phil leads John into his office.

"This is quite the nice set up you've got here," John comments from his seat, raising his tumbler of whiskey. Phil raises his own.

"Thank you. Though it is starting to feel more and more like a consolation prize," Phil confesses.

"Not anymore though, right? I heard you were around during the level eight situation at the Hub with the Avengers. So the secret's out, huh?"

Phil rubs the nape of his neck. "Yeah, I'm back at the Hub for now. No point in otherwise hiding in here seeing as my death is no longer classified."

"What was the point of that in the first place?" John asks, leaning towards Phil. "I know your recovery was level 10 classified, so I'm not trying to pry," he rubs his nose, "but what was so special about it that it had to be hidden from others? Phil, you're the best SHIELD had to offer, you should have been doing more important things at the Hub, not this spiel on the Bus."

"It's a long story." Phil says, folding his hands together on the table.

"For an old friend like you, I got all the time, Phil."

"I appreciate it, but it's a long story, and we've got another mission." Phil stands. John follows.

"I'll let you get on with it then. But seriously, call me if you ever need to talk. We haven't had a chance to since the whole Chitauri mess, and I know sometimes you need to just let it all out."

"Thanks, John." Phil answers, purposefully not giving him an answer.

"Sure thing, Phil."

***

Phil is running on coffee and possibly batteries by the time they make it to Perth, Australia. They intercept the exchange of the stolen terrigen crystal, seal it in storage and sets flight co-ordinates for the Baxter Building. He spends the next twenty hours to New York City in various conference meetings as well as individual meetings with his team members.

Phil knows how badly SHIELD SciTech wants to play around with terrigen mists, but Phil and Maria had both agreed that this was something better left to people who actually knew what they were doing. They hadn't bothered telling Nick.

Attilan is a sovereign nation (even if it’s floating above New York City) and SHIELD has no permission to enter. He has SHIELD make contact with the Fantastic Four and Crystal to pass on the item. He spends the next few hours in his office stripping and cleaning his weapons

Muscle memory. It all makes sense now, why he’d had such a hard time disarming that gun back in Morocco. He contemplates telling his team the truth, but ultimately decides against it. He could barely talk about it with John, who he's known for two decades, he could never get the words out in front of this new team of his. Besides, it’s one thing to involve the Avengers in this, especially since the technology had been stolen from Stark. It's another to tell level 5 and 7 agents things they don't really have a business knowing. Besides, there was no point in telling anyone else until they found some sort of solution. Though he trusts Tony, who’s convinced that he can find a solution with Bruce and Jane, he himself is not so convinced.

Conviction. _You lack conviction,_ he’d said to Loki.

It’s the reason the Avengers won in the end; they had had conviction. They had had zeal. Loki had simply craved power and attention; he couldn’t have won. But now, looking at himself, he wonders where his conviction is. He has none left, he’s but a machine. A very advanced one, but still a machine, playing at being human. How can he have conviction, or faith, or anything else, for that matter? This is a losing battle, he thinks. He’s not going to win this, he has no conviction. He’s lost already. He’s like a patient on a ventilator, no hope. He might as well pull the plug.

There is a knock on his door and Skye enters, looking nervous, “Hey, Coulson, sorry, do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Coulson says, motioning with his hands for her to take a seat. “Can I help you?” She nods her thanks and sits down, handing over the cup in her hand.

“Um, this is for you? It’s just tea. I wanted to make sure you were okay, you look really tired,” she says, eyes focused on the weapon parts on the desk. He’s thankful, but also irritated he can’t control himself well enough to hide these things from some kid who isn’t even a trained SHIELD agent.

“Thank you, Skye. I’m all right, just a little low on sleep.” Which is getting more and more ridiculous; an LMD shouldn’t need so much sleep.

“All right, well you let us know if we can do anything, yeah?” she asks.

Phil nods. “Of course, I appreciate your concern,” he says, a clear dismissal.

She places her hand over his for a moment. “Okay, just. We care about you, AC.” And then she’s out the door.

Phil finishes up and puts his gun away. He glances at the clock on the wall; there’s another eight hours to New York and he’s so tired. He can’t just sit in his seat anymore, so he gets up, changes into sweats and pulls out his bed. He takes the StarkPad with him, where new information filters in by the minute. The newest report tells him that the Avengers had assembled against a swarm of insectoid aliens, and that the threat had been neutralized. Phil wonders what it is about New York that draws aliens to it.

The next moment, years of training fail him and he jumps in his seat as his phone begins vibrating. Not the satellite phone used while they’re in flight, but his personal cell, the StarkPhone. It’s an unknown number, but he picks up anyway. There aren’t too many people it can be.

“Coulson.”

“ _It’s me_ ,” Clint says softly. Phil’s free hand almost automatically drops the tablet to press against his chest. The sudden relief in his stomach is incredible.

“Hey, Clint.” Phil doesn’t know what to say. He’s been distant since that Saturday and he doesn’t know how to fix it, or whether he wants to fix it. He’s only going to hurt Clint.

“ _I know, I know your note said you wanted to be alone, but I_ -“ He stops abruptly. “ _Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, I shouldn’t have called-_ ”

“I’m glad you did,” Phil blurts out. It’s the truth, he missed Clint the last year, through what he’d believed was his recovery, and seeing him again for the first time all those weeks ago had brought the need back, the simmering waves he’d held back for so long suddenly rising up inside of him higher than any tidal wave. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know how to explain without baring his soul. It would have been better if he’d died on the Helicarrier, he thinks. Though he supposes, technically, he is dead, isn’t he?

“ _Are you sleeping at all_?” Clint asks.

“A little,” Phil says. If by little, he means none.

There’s a pause. “ _Please don’t lie to me_ ,” Clint says. “ _If you just don’t want to deal with the mess that’s me and my life, fine, just tell me so. But don’t lie to me please_.”

Phil aches. He wants to take the plane to the Tower, find Clint and hold him. Tell him all the things that make it impossible to live without him, but he can’t. He wishes he could turn off these feelings. It’s unfair to be a machine and still not have control of his emotions. He chokes out, “No. Clint, it’s not like that.” He sighs. “No, I haven’t slept since we left.”

“ _What can I do_?” Clint asks.

Nothing, Phil wants to scream. You can’t do anything to help me- I’m already dead! But he can’t, won’t, hurt Clint. “Don’t worry, Clint.”

“ _You slept better with me- I mean_ -“ Clint pauses and Phil can picture it clear as day the way he must be blushing, blood rushing into his cheeks, eyes averted, and hand over his face. God, Phil loves this man. Loved.The real Phil is dead, it occurs to him. He can’t do this anymore. This feeling in his chest for Clint is corrupted code. He can’t talk to this man who Phil Coulson had loved with every breath, because he’s going to hurt him. He’s going to break this man’s heart again. Because Clint loved two people in the world, Phil and Natasha, and Phil Coulson was long dead.

“Clint, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“ _Wait, just_ -” Phil cuts the call. He can’t want something this bad, clearly he’s faulty machinery. He’s going to do more harm. That can’t be Phil Coulson’s legacy.

He forces the thought out of his mind and ferociously works through a large chunk of paper work. By the time they’re in New York, for once in his life, he genuinely has no work left to do.

After debrief, Phil goes to his quarters, realizes that it smells like Clint, and stays in his office for the rest of the day. Dr. Banner calls him for a second diagnostic, so he reluctantly leaves for Avengers Tower. He knows he looks like hell warmed over, but no amount of cleaning up is going to help, so he heads directly to the lab. Bruce is there with Bobbi Morse. He runs a quick diagnostic and then they go upstairs to the medical floor. It’s still a shock to see his smaller, weaker body in the stasis chamber. He looks like he’s asleep, except for the headgear.

"I'll let Bobbi take over," Bruce says, "I'll be in the labs if you need anything."

Then he’s alone with Agent Morse, who wants to test whether Phil can feel his organic body. She opens the container and tells him to close his eyes.

"Can you feel this?"

"No."

"Now?"

"Nothing." There's no feeling, no connection.

“I don’t want to hurt you by trying this out any further." She tells him and he opens his eyes to see her sealing the stasis chamber again. Besides, I don’t think this is helping at all. God, what a waste of time.”

“I’m sorry, I know you have better things to do.”

“Oh come on, I haven’t used my PhD in four years, I’m having a blast,” Bobbi winces. “No offense, I just wish I had an idea in which direction to go, you know?”

“I’m just grateful for your help,” Phil replies. He doesn’t know how to read her. She distrusts him, that’s clear, but then, he would be too. She’s mouthier than Clint, which makes him laugh out loud, to Morse’s surprise.

“Yeah, well. Captain America asks for something, it’s hard to say no. Then there’s Clint.” She walks with him to the elevator.

“I'm sorry?”

“That idiot cares a lot about you, and I don’t know what your plan is, why you stayed away.” Because Phil never thought Clint had loved him this much. “But I’ve never seen him like this before, you know? And I was married to the bastard.” Phil automatically stiffens at the insult, but Bobbi’s grinning at him. “Relax. I just meant, he’s been in here or the lab until we all got sick of him and kicked him out, and then Kate sent me a whole bunch of texts to get him out of her hair.” He pushes the button and waits for the elevator, “You know Clint, he cares a lot. But the last few weeks, he'd seemed happier than I’ve ever seen him, and believe me, my blowjobs are fucking incredible.” Jesus. Phil bites him cheek so hard it would probably bleed if he were real. Bobbi smirks. “What? I do.”

Thank God he doesn’t have to say anything, because the elevator dings and they walk in together. She turns serious, eyes narrowing. “Listen, Clint and I were shit together, but he’s family, and you fucked with his head pretty bad. I didn’t know Clint before New York, but losing you changed him, everyone who knew him before says that. I don’t know if it’s better that you came back into his life or not, but if you ever do anything to hurt him again, you’re going to find yourself dead so fast you won’t know it happened until you're facing Hela.”

Coulson nods. “I would never do anything willingly to hurt Clint. If I break that promise, go ahead and do your worst, I would deserve it.”

Bobbi smirks. “Glad we’ve understood each other well then. I like you, Coulson, let’s keep it that way.” She punches in floor numbers for the Avengers floor and for Phil’s apartment.

Back in his apartment, he takes a shower, puts on jeans and a Henley and walks down to Clint’s apartment, deciding to have a conversation they should have had ages ago. He wasn't lying when he spoke to Bobbi. He would never hurt Clint if he could.

From the sound of the TV, it’s clear Clint is home. He rings the bell and waits. When the door opens, he’s surprised to find Clint holding a ladle in one hand, clad in sweats and a Captain America t-shirt. Correction, in HIS Captain America t-shirt, the one he thought he’d lost sometime in 2009. It’s snug at the shoulders, but there’s that wine stain he could never get out right under the shield, and the tear at the right sleeve. That’s definitely his shirt. Clint must be wondering by now why Phil hasn’t said anything, but he takes just one look at Phil and then moves out of the way, silently letting him into the apartment.

“I’m making lunch, want some?” He leads the way to the kitchen, where he finds Natasha in the middle of a knitting spree. Another blanket, it would seem. It feels like before, the hundreds of meals over the years Clint had cooked for them, both being useless in the kitchen.

“Hey, Phil.” She gives him a small smile. She’s no longer wearing the shoulder sling. “Don’t start, I already got the all-clear from the infirmary.”

Phil smiles and sits beside her, instantly calm in her prescence. She kisses him on the cheek and continues knitting. “So who’s this one for?” he asks.

“Bruce, for the couch in his lab,” she replies.

They don’t say anything for a while. Clint places a cutting board and carrots in front of Phil, the only thing Phil could ever manage in a kitchen. He dices them on automatic, mind wandering to the medical bay upstairs. It’s a simple enough task, but he’s shattered and the knife slips, cutting through part of his pointer finger. Clint rushes to his aid with a dish towel but all he can focus on is the metal that has become exposed by the cut, a few centimetres underneath this skin. Phil can’t breathe. Clint tries to hold his hand but Phil pulls away, unable to look away from the metal showing through his skin. It’s one thing to know in his head, but another to actually see definitive proof that he’s a robot, an LMD. That he isn't a living thing. Clint keeps saying his name, but he can’t listen; he’s fixated, his whole body shaking.

A swift slap across the face from Natasha pulls him out of his trance. “Snap out of it!” she hisses, and Phil is so shocked he allows Clint to bandage the wound with liquid stitches and cover it up.

Phil stands up, not able to handle looking at either of them, but Natasha pushes him back down in his seat. “No. You’re not going anywhere. Sit the hell down.”

Clint brings him a glass of water and makes him drink it all. “I shouldn’t be here,” Phil says as Clint puts the glass away. Natasha slaps him again.

“This is exactly where you should be. Don’t you dare think otherwise.” Phil nods numbly and allows Natasha to pull close to him, straddling him in the chair and pushing his head forward until it rested against her chest. She has her hand around his finger, putting pressure on the wound. Phil can’t make himself trust her words, but he knows better than to argue with her. She holds him tightly until his breathing stabilizes.

In the meantime, Clint’s ready with lunch, steamed vegetables with fish that the three of them eat quietly. Phil’s hands are still shaking and he only eats half of it before putting his utensils down. He should tell Fury to make future LMDs capable of living without food and sleep. It’s only a drawback to being a functional weapon, he thinks.

Afterwards, Natasha kisses him, whispering into his ear “Stop avoiding,” before pulling away to kiss Clint and smack him upside the head. Then she leaves with the blanket. Clint is washing dishes and Phil is drying. They haven’t spoken since he walked in. He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows he can’t keep pushing Clint away. Clint, who discovered betrayal and moved beyond it because that’s the kind of person he is. Clint, who feels guilty for something that isn’t his fault.

So of course Clint starts first. “I know that I can’t really relate to what’s happening to you. If you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s fine, but will you please stop shutting me out?” He’s facing away from Phil. It’s not that Phil doesn’t want to talk to Clint about it. It’s because Morse is right; Phil has put Clint through enough.

“Clint,” Phil says, “I don’t want to shut you out, and not to be over-narcissistic, but I get the feeling I put you through hell over the last two years.” Clint’s back goes rigid.

“It doesn’t make a difference. Not your fault. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't helped Loki attack the Helicarrier in the first place."

And Phil has to laugh at that, because he doesn’t know how else to react; that’s how ridiculous this situation is. They used to trust each other with everything. When Clint had nothing but a room without windows in SHIELD, he’d trusted in Phil’s promise to get him through training and become an agent. And he had. When they’d been captured in Seoul and Clint had promised to come back for him, Phil had believed his word. And he had even after it had cost him a toe. But now, Clint can’t or won’t believe him. He can’t stop laughing; he’s losing his fucking mind. When he finally stops, Clint is frowning at him, looking him up and down.

“Phil?”

“Will you ever trust my word again?”

“What? Of course I trust your word!” Clint tells him.

“Will you ever believe me when I tell you none of the events that occurred on the Helicarrier are your fault?” he shoots back. “I’m not the same Phil Coulson you knew-“

“Of course you are! How can you say something like that to me?” Clint bites back.

Phil stands up straight, steels himself. This is what he had come to say in the first place. “Because I’m not. I’m just an LMD, I’m not really him. If you let yourself get close to me, one of these days, I’m going to hurt you again. I am not pushing you away because I want to or because I blame you. I am pushing you away because I don’t want to hurt you again.” Clint is frozen, eyes wide, and he hasn’t taken a breath in a few seconds now. “Clint, you need to breathe,” Phil says soothingly.

“You can’t. Please don’t do this to me. You promised me. You promised me in medical you were here!” Clint whispers.

Phil has to close his eyes. He didn’t think Clint remembered that. “I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you so much. But Clint, you need to get help. You need to talk to someone else, because you are not okay. And having me in your life is only making things more difficult.”

“Will you let me decide that for myself?”

“Clint, I’m so sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me. How can you say sorry for leaving when you’re doing it again? You promised!” Clint’s shaking now and Phil is so cold it hurts. He can give Clint up, he can do it. Morse is right, Phil is going to hurt Clint, and he can’t. Phil can live (or whatever you call it) as long as Clint is alive and happy, even if that means he hates Phil for breaking yet another promise.

“Clint, I never came back! You should never have found me. Clint, I’m already dead. This is just details.” And Phil knows he’s gone too far because Clint slams him against the wall, one arm on the wall to his side while the other presses against his chest. And those eyes. Oh God, those eyes. Phil finally knows what it feels like to be the sole target of Clint Barton’s smouldering rage.

“DETAILS? You’re alive! You’re just as alive as JARVIS, or DUM-E. Or don’t you think they’re alive?”

“It’s different, Clint.” Phil insists. It is. Because they were born that way, it’s their natural selves. What he is, it’s not natural; it hadn't been a choice he'd made. It’s what happens when scientists think they have the right to play God.

“No, it really isn’t! This is a second chance at life. It’s a miracle is what it is! They’ll figure out a way to put you back-“

“If they don’t? What then?”

“Then we protect your body. It’s your mind, you’re not some copy or computer program. It’s you. And we’re the Avengers, Phil. We’ll keep you safe.”

“What if I don’t want that?” Phil asks in a small voice.

Clint freezes at that. “You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “Tell me you don’t mean that. You promised. You’re staying. You promised.”

Weak at the knees, Phil begins to slide down the wall. Clint grabs him by the waist and holds him in place. Phil wipes the sudden angry tears on Clint’s face, aching with the need to make him understand. Clint is warm as always, and his breath is scorching against Phil’s face. He can’t do this anymore. If he stays here for another moment, he’s going to never leave, he’s going to go back on all his words and explanations. He’s going to take everything he wants, but shouldn’t. “I’m not human, Clint.” And with that he pushes him away, walks away, disobeying every cell in his body that is screaming at him not to do this.

He is pulled back forcefully by a hand at his elbow that is sure to leave a bruise. Then the hand is gone and Clint grabs his face, his hands digging into Phil’s scalp and his mouth unrelenting against his lips. Phil gasps and Clint takes advantage, devouring him. Phil can’t think properly, all he knows is that Clint is too far away, his hands flail before wrapping around Clint and bring him closer. Clint tastes like fear and desperation, like want and grief and joy. And it’s not enough. He kisses back, mapping out Clint’s mouth with his tongue and trying to chase the grief away. It’s not enough. There’s too much clothing between them and Phil drags his hands lower and under the t-shirt. Clint shudders the moment his hands touch bare skin, and thrusts against Phil, cock hard against his thigh. One of Clint’s hands migrates, sneaking under the Henley to press against his scar, and then Phil can’t.

He pushes Clint away, hard. Clint’s lips are bruising already and he’s gasping for breath. Clint brings his hands forward to hold him by the shoulders and Phil shies away. “No. We can’t.” Clint pushes him against the wall again, this time, with a hand pressed against his own rigid cock. Phil pushes back, ignoring the rising need. He can think now. He’s not an animal, he’s a machine, and machines can be logical.

Clint pushes against him again, lining their cocks up through the clothing. “ _This_ is human,” he says, grinding against Phil. “Don’t tell me it isn’t.”

He pushes away harder and Clint steps away, hurt clear on his face. “I said, we can’t.”

“Phil, I-“ Phil turns away and strides to the door, quick as he can without running, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose his resolve again. He opens the apartment door and a hand comes to rest on top of his again. “Please, Phil,” Clint begs, but Phil can’t do this, he can’t. He pulls his hand away hastily.

“You can’t. I’m not a person, I’m a thing,” Phil tells the man behind him, not sure he’s strong enough to look again. He barely manages to get to the other side of the door of his quarters before his legs give away under him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to take a moment to say thank you to all the readers, especially the commenters. You guys make my day and encourage me so much!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes progress, and Natasha helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so so sorry this took so long. Thanks to ereshai for a beta on a rather difficult chapter. 
> 
> **This chapter is 100% NSFW**

Clint is leaning on his front door. He’s been standing there for a while now - he doesn’t know exactly how long, but his erection has faded - but he can’t go back in. All he can see is Phil on his couch and in his kitchen and on his balcony. No. He needs to leave. He sucks in air and exhales. Frustration and embarrassment begin to uncoil low in his stomach. It’s not enough. He needs a release. He wants to get in a bar fight. He wants a quick, dirty fuck. Two and a half years is long enough. Now, now he wants someone to push him up against a dirty alley or a bathroom wall and pound into him mercilessly. Why has he waited so long? He can’t stand the emptiness in him. He doesn’t have a jacket on, just the t-shirt and the sweats, but he doesn’t care; he can’t go back in there. He takes one of Tony’s cars -not the red Impala, this time- and drives as fast as he can to Bed Stuy.

Natasha is already there, curled up in his bed as he storms up the stairs and starts pulling his shirt off. “I’m going to assume that it didn’t go so well, then?”

“Nat, I’m so not in the mood to talk right now,” he growls as he rummages through his closet for a pair of jeans. He finds something passable, throws it on the bed along with a button up that’s just a little too tight. He divests himself of the rest of his clothes, pulling the compression garment off haphazardly,and walks into the bathroom. He showers quickly, ignoring his once again half-hard cock, and walks out of the bathroom, towelling himself dry on the way to the bed to grab the jeans. He doesn’t have any clean underwear but who the fuck needs underwear anyway?

Natasha’s still laying in bed, silent under the covers. “How about we forgo the whole running around clubs and coming home with shattered glass on your head, and fuck instead?” She sits up in bed and the covers slide down, revealing her lack of clothing.

“Unless you got a cock hidden in there somewhere I didn't know about, you are literally useless right now.”

“Well, I’ve got this gorgeous red harness. Would that work?”

“We always do this and it never makes things better,” Clint snaps at her.

“Going out there and finding a random guy to fuck you isn’t going to make you feel better either,” she counters. “You'll just come home and feel guilty for something you have no reason to feel guilty about."

She's right, he knows. Because he doesn't want a stranger, he wants- no. He's not going to think about that, no need to think about rejection. But God, he wants to have his brains fucked out so bad. He wants to forget why he hasn't done this in so long and why he wants to now. But Natasha. He'll never regret Natasha, who is his rock and foundation.

They've never done this before. Oh, they've had sex, so much of it they've been kicked out of safe houses by handlers and teams alike. When Natasha switched sides, they'd spent a tumultuous three months together before they realised that they were much better off as the best friends they were meant to be. With the added bonus of someone to blow off steam with of course. They haven't had sex in a very long time though, and she's never fucked him before. But Natasha knows what Clint needs, and isn't shy about giving it to him.

One look from Natasha and the decision is made. She climbs out of bed with a purpose and pulls him toward her, twisting him around until she slams him down onto it. Natasha is vicious, she always has been, and in bed is no exception. She steals his breath with a commanding kiss. He keens into her mouth, he can’t help it- she has him, she can have the control. He doesn’t want to think and hurt, just wants to be filled for a change.

“Touch yourself,” she orders him while leaning over to grab the lube and the harness she’d stuck in his bedside drawer along with the plugs and dildos he hasn’t touched in years. He obeys, closing his eyes. He’s half-hard, and it isn’t that difficult to work himself up, with his body still itching for Phil's touch. His eyes snap open when Natasha straddles him and grabs him by the neck, pulling him up for a brutal kiss. She shoves him back down again and grinds her core against his cock, slick and deliciously hot.

Then it’s gone and he’s staring at Natasha who is moving away from him. “Nat?”

“Shut your mouth, and turn around, hands against the headboard.” He obeys silently, thrusting unevenly into his bed to ease some of the friction. “Stop moving,” she commands, and he does.

He presses his head into the pillow and bites his lips in an ever increasingly difficult effort to stay still. Anyone else and they'd get a punch in the face, but Natasha behind him is sanctuary; it's an assurance that things will be okay. A cold slick finger pushes relentlessly into his asshole and he pushes back against it. It’s so good, so good, and it’s been so fucking long. But it’s not enough, so he pushes harder, eager for more. Natasha sighs. “Fine. Don’t get mad at me later when you’re sore.”She pulls away, then he feels a sudden coldness as lube is poured directly above his hole. It trails over his hole and drips down over his balls. Three fingers and Clint forgets to breathe. Natasha pulls him by his shoulder until he’s on his knees, back pressed up against her chest, fingers crooking just right, ripping a guttural moan out of his throat. “I thought I told you to shut up,” she says near his ear. “Suck.” There's a coldness against his cheek, one of his metal plugs, the small but wide one. He opens his mouth and she thrusts it in. He coats it with his tongue best as he can, saliva leaking down his chin. Natasha pulls it out and the fingers from his ass and he whines, so empty he can’t bear it. She shushes him and pushes his shoulders down, leaving his ass high in the air.

He’s not ready for the plug, it’s too wide, but Natasha always gets what she wants and he chokes as it splits him nearly in two. So good.So full. He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he never wants to lose this feeling. He forces his eyes open, ignoring the images of Phil's broad hands and his warm chest coming up in his mind. The plug isn’t long enough to be of truly satisfying; no amount of movement hits his prostrate, but Clint still can’t understand how he managed without this all the same. Natasha flips him around again, swiftly putting a condom on him, and then, without a pause, sinks down on him, sealing their hips together. He arches up from the bed, head rolling from side to side, rational thought leaving the building completely. Natasha braces herself on his chest, ruthlessly impaling herself on him.

It doesn’t take long before she comes, a moment’s stillness as rapture takes her. Clint knows what it looks like, has seen it a dozen times before, but this time he concentrates on the flickering light above him and the stretch in his ass, every inch of his cock still hard inside of Natasha. He doesn’t trust himself to think of anything else, knows where his mind will go if he does. She pulls off of him after a minute, settling somewhere beside him. Then she sits back up and moving to the foot of the bed, settling between his legs. She pulls his legs up, pushing them towards his chest, bending him nearly in half. “Hold on to these for me,” she says, and he does as he’s told. There’s a pause and then he hears the clinking of a strap-on being buckled on.

He can’t help the shudder that runs through him when Natasha rubs gently over the sensitive skin of his perineum before slowly pulling the plug out. She throws it carelessly to one side, Clint hears it clattering somewhere on the floor. He doesn't register the short moment that Natasha pauses to slick up; all thought leaves him when, with one single thrust, she fills him to the hilt.

The pressure on his prostate is too much, and he screams. But Natasha is relentless and fucks him fast and hard, holding onto his thighs for leverage. He can’t touch his cock with his hands wrapped around his ankles, but it makes no difference, she slams into him once more and the orgasm is torn out of him along with Phil’s name.

He closes his eyes as Natasha pulls away and lets go of his leg. The bed creaks as Natasha stands up; there's a clattering sound as she drops the strap-on onto the parquet floor. He keeps his eyes closed, stomach slowly filling up with guilt while Natasha returns and gently cleans him up.

She puts on one of his old t-shirts and comes to lie down in bed with him, pulling the covers over them and tucking it under his shoulder. “You have some weird ass hang ups, Clint Barton,” she tells him, hand tracing the now exposed scars of his burn. “Is this the first time you’ve been fucked since the Chitauri attack?”

His silence is answer enough for her. “You don’t owe him anything, Clint. You weren’t together.”

“I couldn’t..." he had tried once, but he couldn't make it to completion, not without thinking about Phil, and he had been dead. Because of Clint. He couldn’t do that to Phil’s memory, another reason he couldn't last with Bobbi. "Without."

Natasha nods in understanding.

He doesn’t say anything else for a while. “What happened?” she asks. There are a few moments of silence but Natasha doesn’t repeat her question. She doesn’t need to, and she’s patient enough.

“He told me he was going to hurt me if he stayed... I kissed him, and he left,” he tells her in a small voice. “He left.”

“I’m going to break his legs,” she says calmly. “Don’t try to stop me. I’m getting Bobbi and we’re going to break his legs.”

“He said he wasn’t human and he didn’t want to hurt me. He said he wasn’t real! And he won’t believe me when I say that’s not true.” Her hair catches on his lips. Natasha stays quiet. “I never should have kissed him. I just got him back and now I’ve gone and ruined everything. He’ll never come back; I’m losing him again.”

“Clint, you can’t keep blaming yourself for this.”

“I’m the reason all this happened to him Nat, and then I went and had to unload all my shitty problems onto him,” he whimpers. And once it starts, he can’t stop. He curls to his side, burrowing into Natasha as his body quakes in gut-wrenching sobs. Natasha just holds him until he’s quieter.

“Isn’t it funny that you can’t believe him telling you it’s not your fault, and he can’t believe you telling him he’s just as real as he ever was?” she asks him. It’s not, not really. And Natasha knows it by the look on her face, but she has a point. “Do you blame me for the things I did before?”

“No!”

“What about Bruce? Do you blame him for the things he does as the Hulk? Because I’m pretty sure he caused more damage to the Helicarrier than you did.”

“Of course not.”

“But you can’t stop blaming yourself for something that Loki did to you.”

“That’s different.”

“No, you’re being a hypocrite.” She’s right. Of course she’s right. Why didn’t he see that before? “You would never blame Kate for being raped-“

“Of course I wouldn’t! She was the victim!”

“And so were you! So were you Clint. He raped your mind, and you thinking it’s your fault is just the same as blaming Kate or Bruce or me. And it takes the blame away from the people actually responsible. ” And that stops him right there. He can’t say another word because she’s right. He has never for a single moment blamed any of them. Natasha is always right, and this is the first time she’s ever called it rape, but now that she’s said it, he knows it’s true. He’s all cried out, but he can’t help but hold on to Natasha like she’s his rope to safety. “Loki is to blame, not you. Say that with me. Loki is to blame for what happened on the Helicarrier."

“Loki is to blame for what happened on the Helicarrier,” he repeats after her. And Natasha kisses him on the forehead. They stay in bed together, the phrase repeating in his head. He might just believe it by the time he falls asleep.

The next morning, Natasha brings him coffee in bed and Clint knows something bad is coming because Natasha's hate for coffee extends even as far as to its smell.

“I understand why Phil wants to stay away from you,” she says. And Clint sees red so fast he has to get out of bed. “No,” Natasha commands. “Sit back down, let me explain.” He does, and she continues, “You never moved on from him and you’d never been anything to each other but friends. Now here you are, still blaming yourself for all this, and he’s not safe. He could get hurt. Maybe not now, but one day. Clint, he’s only human.”

Clint swallows. He knows he’s dependent and it’s creepy, but he wasn’t doing it on purpose, he just couldn’t help wanting Phil. “He doesn’t want you to hurt like that again, which I understand. He doesn’t realize you love him, dummy. Remember what he said, he never thought he’d matter so much to us. He probably thinks you kissed him out of guilt.”

Now that Clint thinks about it, it all makes sense. “Clint, you never talk to anyone about your feelings. It’s how you end up in fucked up situations like this, with Bobbi and Jess. You have to talk to someone. Talk to Phil, be honest with him. Help him understand. Tell him what it is you want from him.Then let him make an informed decision.”

“I just don’t want him to leave,” Clint finally says. “I have no right to demand anything from him. He doesn’t want or need me to unload all my unwanted bullshit onto him, not when he’s overwhelmed with the whole LMD crap.”

“Maybe it’s not that unwanted. Yes, he's pushing you away. But maybe you're just what he needs right now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I'm sorry. It's smut, but without Phil... Don't worry, it's only for this chapter, and it's to put Clint on the road to Phil:) 
> 
> By the way, my last chapter got the more comments than any of my other chapters, I was nearly in tears by the phenomenal response! Thank you so much for being so lovely!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Clint finally have the conversation.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings** : Existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max72 did gorgeous artwork for me! It's on Chapter 1 so please do check it out! It's absolutely phenomenal!
> 
> Thanks to ereshai for the beta as always. You make me a better writer.

When Phil opens his eyes, he finds himself yet again on the floor in the bathroom. This time he's on the Bus, though he doesn’t remember how and when he made it back here. The last thing he remembers is Clint’s lips against his own. He staggers up, bracing against the sink for support. He’s naked, and even in his sleep-clouded mind, he realizes he’s passed out on the bathroom floor again. He looks up, nauseated at his lack of self-control, the reflection staring back at him in the mirror is yet more proof of the lie that he is. There is no fogging on the mirror, so he must have been on the floor for a while. Unfortunately, this gives Phil a perfect view of the ugly scar on his chest, a scar identical to the one on the sleeping body in the Avengers Tower. Except that one is real and the one he’s staring at was put there like makeup in a production. Fake blood and fake scars, everything about him is fake, the greatest pretender of all.

The cut on his hand has healed superficially, but the image of underlying metal still flashes in his mind. He grasps the sink even more tightly as a sudden flash of vertigo nearly sends him back to the floor. This can’t go on.

He’s a dead man acting the part of a living one, chrome and wiring playing at flesh and blood. This horror film needs to end, and soon. It’s terrible acting, anyway, no one must actually believe this to be true. He should be dead, Phil wants to scream. Why isn’t he dead? He wonders what he did to deserve the right to cheat death. In the grand scheme of things, he’s nothing, so why, why was he saved? But this half-life is not one he wants to continue living. Somebody needs to pull the plug on this half-assed theatre, he thinks. Maybe he should do it himself.

He hates himself the moment he has that thought. Images flash through his mind, of Clint passed out on his couch, covered in whiskey and vomit and piss, of Clint begging him not to leave even in his sleep, of Clint breathing harshly against him, lips swollen and pupils dark, hand against his chest.

The warmth of Clint’s hand against his heart hasn’t faded though the kiss had been hours ago. It’s burned through to his core, but it’s a lie. He itches with the need to rip the scar out, scour the skin until the truth shines through, but he knows he can’t hurt this vessel that Clint sees as Phil. Clint, who can’t let go of his death, can’t let go of the work of Loki.

So many lies.Clint who lies to himself, Phil who lies to Clint. Clint who must have seen what Phil always wanted because nothing slips past those eyes. Clint who lied to Phil with a kiss that promised love but tasted of guilt. Phil who lied again, broke the promise to stay again. Phil is a liar and a cheat and a thief of life, but he won’t make Clint one. He won’t make a liar out of Clint and take what he wants because Phil has never loved anyone the way he loves Clint. He won’t make a pretender out of Clint.

Instead, he looks away from the lie on his chest and manoeuvres himself to the toilet seat, sitting down after shutting the lid. Clothes are within reach and he dresses himself, hands moving with exaggerated slowness. Bracing against the sink and the bathtub to his right, he pulls himself up and takes a deep breath, fighting the abrupt dizziness. Legs weak, it takes him a while to make it back to his office/bedroom, holding onto everything and anything near him for support. Melinda is already waiting for him, sitting on his office chair. He runs out of things to lean on, and his first step on his own has him swaying, lightheaded. She springs into action and grabs him by the elbow for support.He wants to protest, but he needs the help, and he knows better than to argue with Melinda when she has that look on her face.

“You look pretty awake for a coma patient,” she says once they’re both seated.

“Pardon me?”

“Seriously? Didn’t you think I would notice after two alarms went off simultaneously, and Tony Stark of all people is involved? What the hell is going on?” She looks positively murderous, and Phil acquiesces. Faking a death had cost him most of his friendships. Melinda isn't one he wants to lose.

The story comes out in bits and pieces, Phil chokes over some of it and Melinda, bless her patient nature, just sits and waits. He nods off a few times and Melinda jolts him awake, each time the worried expression becoming more severe.“In summary,” he concludes, “I’m not as human as I look.”

Melinda slaps him. This is starting to be a pattern, he thinks wryly. First, Natasha, now Melinda. Who’s next, Maria?

“Let’s hope not, that woman is terrifying. And yes, you spoke out loud. You’re still not sleeping, are you?”

Phil turns away guiltily. “I can’t.”

“You should have gotten FitzSimmons, they know what they’re doing.”

“No, the rest of the team doesn’t need to know.”

“Are you kidding me, Phil?” She demands. “Don’t we have enough secrets?” He wants to tell her to quiet down, his head is pounding and she is so damn loud. “Phil, we can help. We might not be the Avengers, but we’re your team too.”

He can’t listen anymore, her voice is so loud. He tries to focus on her, but his vision is blurry. He waves his hand at her. “Quiet-“ he thinks he manages to choke out, and then everything is dark again.

***

When he wakes up, it’s so bright he has to shut his eyes again. By the sound of it, he’s in an ambulance. There are voices in the background-

“What do you mean he needs to go to Avengers Tower? We need a medical team, not superheroes!” Fitz shouts.

“We don’t have the clearance to know, sir!” A voice he doesn’t recognize. “We called the Hub to tell them we’re on the way, and they told us to take him to the Avengers Tower!”

“I’ll explain everything to everyone as soon as I can,” Melinda says from somewhere behind him.

It’s so loud he wants to rip his ears out, smash the machinery that gives him audio input. His hands thrash about, begging for it to stop. There’s a sharp pain in his neck and again, darkness claims him.

***

_“This is wrong!” Dr. Streiten shouts, “Who ordered this?”_

_“Director Fury himself!”_

_It’s so cold and Phil can’t get out, he’s stuck. He's lived through this a hundred times and yet it feels brand new and just as terrifying every single time. Nick and Maria are watching him and his head is split open, he wants to die. “Please, please let me die,” he begs again and again._

But there are unseen fingers near the pulse point of his wrist telling him it’s only dream, that’s Clint is here and he’s not going to leave. Fingers telling him to dream of good things, of happiness and of life. Phil obeys.

***

Morning light peeks through the mostly closed blinds, intent on imparting their warmth on Phil. There’s a hand on his wrist. Phil doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who the hand belongs to, those callouses are familiar to him as his own.

“You gave us quite the scare, Phil,” Clint says, hand pulling away. Phil opens his eyes and finds Clint to his right, hair sticking out in a thousand directions, shirt wrinkled and eyes worried.

Phil doesn’t know where he is, but Clint is here so he isn’t worried. More importantly, he doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got there. “I don’t remember…” He was on the Bus. Melinda.

“Tony thinks your body couldn’t handle running on so little sleep.” But his body is a machine; that makes no sense. Clint must read it on his face because he continues, “Your mind isn’t code, Phil. You’re a real person, who has limits.”

“How long have I been-“

“Asleep? Fourteen hours,” Clint replies. “They put you on sleep meds.” He looks down. “I’m sorry, I know you were stuck in those nightmares. I…”

“Not the whole time. Thank you.” Even if Phil had wanted Clint to stay away, he’s thankful for Clint’s presence now. But he still sees the problem. “Thank you for staying Clint, but you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.”

Clint opens his mouth to respond,but he stops when Simmons walks in. “Thank God you’re awake, sir. Well, thank science actually," she rephrases with a bright smile. "How are you feeling, sir?”

Phil turns to her. “I’m better, I think? Thank you.”

“Would be better if we’d known about this development a bit earlier, sir,” she adds under her breath, and Phil pretends not to have heard.

Within minutes of Simmons running a diagnostic, Tony, Bruce, Bobbi, Natasha and Fury clamber into the room along with the rest of Phil’s team. It’s a cacophony of scientific jargon, admonishment and genuine anger at being left in the dark, but Bruce and Simmons shoo them all away after the diagnostic reads clean. Bruce tells him that on no account is he allowed to go back to work today. One of the medics working on the medical floor of Avengers Tower brings him a lunch tray, and that’s when Phil realizes it’s not morning, it's about four in the afternoon.

“Go on, you haven’t eaten in a while,” Clint says, angling the hospital table and helping Phil sit up. Phil’s not really hungry, but Clint still looks worried so he spoons a mouthful of potato and leek soup into his mouth.

“Natasha says I should be completely honest with you, so I’d like to talk this time, if that’s all right, boss.” Phil nods, mouth now full of cracker, and Clint continues. “I didn’t sit here for fourteen hours and hold your hand because I feel responsible for what happened to you. I mean,” He rubs his hand across his face, “I still do a bit, I’m working on that, but that’s not why I stayed.”

Phil’s about to take another spoonful of soup, but he stops abruptly. From the look on Clint’s face, he’s going to spit it right out, while Phil’s eating lunch at four in the afternoon, in bed. “I stayed because I am in love with you.”

The spoon clatters on the tray and Phil stares at Clint, eyes wide. “You don’t- it’s. Clint.” Phil had known in his mind that Clint was going to say this at some point, and Phil had words, all the right, simple, certain words to tell him that it was only guilt, that Clint needs to find himself. But now that Clint’s said those world shattering words to him, his tongue fails him.

“Don’t tell me it’s all in my head because you came back and all that, I’ve loved you since Bangalore,” Clint adds, clearly reading his mind, “I loved you before you died and I loved you after you died. My love for you doesn’t have anything to do with whether you’re alive or not, weird as it sounds.”

Bangalore had been heat and humidity and so much waiting. Bangalore had been the two of them for four weeks in close quarters, eating spicy foods and playing cricket with the slum kids and learning their secrets by night. Bangalore had been sweaty nights sprawled against each other on the floor, the only bed they had a mat made of dried banana leaves.

Phil can’t speak, it’s like he’s in Bangalore again, overcome by the sun. Bangalore was a year before Natasha, and eight years ago. Phil can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel, can’t hear. All he can do is see, see Clint Barton, and Phil wants to weep. Phil wants to scream _I loved you before then! I loved you first and now we’ve lost everything_ , and all Phil wants to do is kiss Clint but he can’t. All that comes out is a half-broken silent sob. Clint is suddenly right beside him, rubbing his back and making him drink from his glass of water.

“Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to freak you out like that. I know it’s kind of pathetic.”

 _It’s really not_ , Phil thinks, then says, “I loved you since Jakarta.” And then it’s Clint’s turn to choke on air because Jakarta was six months before Bangalore.

“Oh my God…” he whispers into the back of Phil’s shoulder, forehead dropping down to rest on it. “All the time we’ve lost.”

Clint is gentle, though lightning fast as he moves to face Phil, leaning in to steal a quick, chaste kiss. Phil pulls away, reluctant, because Clint is right, they’re both idiots, but Phil’s never been more grateful he’d never let Clint closer, because who knows what that would have done to Clint. Who knows what it would do now if something happened?

“Clint, I love you, but I can’t be with you.” Clint opens his mouth, clearly ready to argue. Phil knows he shouldn’t but Clint is right there and that blush is so gorgeous that Phil has to pull him in for another kiss, effectively silencing him. “Clint, please listen. Don’t fight, not until you’ve heard me out.” Clint nods, and he continues, “Clint, I love you, but I am not good for you.”

“You are the greatest good in my life, Phil,” he interrupts.

“Are you going to let me finish?” and Clint at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m not me. I don’t feel like me, I feel different. I told Melinda this months ago, I knew something was wrong. I know, it’s my mind, I know technically it’s me. But that doesn’t stop me from wondering if I’m cheating death here -if I shouldn’t be here.” Phil realizes that he still has a hand cradling Clint’s head, and it’s a battle to let go. “I was so down yesterday, Clint. I don’t know if it was because of the lack of sleep, or what was going on, but I was bordering suicidal.” Clint turns white and Phil has to touch him again, remind him that Phil is right here. Even if Phil can’t believe it, Clint needs to. “I’m so sorry,I wouldn’t do that to you. I just want you to understand that I’m not the old me. I’m just an old man stuck inside of a machine, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wish you would stop saying that. You’re real.” Phil can barely believe those words. “Can’t you stop seeing it as a curse and see it as a second chance? Yeah, some things are different, but it’s still you,” Clint says, raising his hands slowly to rest on his shoulders.

Phil trusts Clint with his life. He trusts Clint’s eyes more than he trusts most things in the world. And if Clint is trying to work around his feelings of guilt, then Phil can learn to work around being an LMD. He doesn’t know how to make Clint understand that it isn’t something that can just happen though, he needs time. Right now, all Phil wants to do is lay in bed and rest his head on Clint’s steady heartbeat, but not like this. Not as a machine, he thinks. He’s a fake, and with Clint it should be real.“I don’t want a relationship with you until I have a human body again,” he tells Clint.

Clint sighs. “Phil, why is this such a big deal to you? I would want to be with you if you had a body like DUM-E’s, you know? I love you, and your mind, it’s still you. It’s not a copy, or a clone, it’s really you.”

“And what if I wake up and I don’t remember anything from when I was an LMD. This matters to me Clint. I don’t-” Phil chokes on his next words, “I’ve forgotten so many things. I don’t want to lose any memory of that with you.”

For a moment, Phil wonders if Clint is even listening, but then Clint just tips his head and smiles at him shyly, and asks, “I matter that much to you?” and Phil needs all of his self-control not to kiss him again.

“It’s like you only listen to every other word I say,” Phil replies. “Of course you matter. This is really important.”

Clint nods, eyes soft. “Okay. Till you get your body back. But for the record,” he says, biting his lip and thus breaking all but the last shred of Phil’s resolve, “I think you’re fine, just the way you are, LMD and all.Even if we never find a way to put you back.”

Speechless is one word for it, and speechless Phil remains until gravity slowly but surely forces his eyes to close. He fights to stay awake, just another moment before the nightmares begin, but then Clint moves away, with him wide awake. “Go to sleep, Phil,” Clint whispers, hand back over his wrist. _I’m not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil meets Hawkguy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai as always, and Max72 because I remember I was particular whiny when I was writing this chapter back in February.

Chapter 17

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Clint growls, trying to stay quiet for Phil’s sake. He has to stay, he’d promised, but Clint is so tempted to leave the room so he can shout at Fury in peace. Clint isn’t that good at self-preservation.

“You want to say that again, son?”

“I said, you’re out of your fucking mind. He’s sleep-deprived, dehydrated and overworked. He isn't going to work, no way.”

“You seem to think you’re the boss of me somehow,” Fury retorts. “Here’s the deal, I run SHIELD, Coulson works for me, so I decide when he goes back to work.”

“Last time you made that decision, you forced him through a procedure he didn’t want. So like I said, no. Fucking. Way.” Phil’s hand tenses under his and he’s clearly awake, but Clint doesn’t care. Maybe he shouldn't be making Phil's decisions for him, but between Fury and Clint, it’s clear who would actually keep Phil’s interests in mind. “Or what, can’t the director run his organization for a few days by himself?”

Fury bristles. “Don’t try to act like you’re his only friend here. I’ve known him longer, I care for him just as much. And I’m telling you I need him.”

“And I’m telling you-“

“It’s okay, Clint,” Phil speaks up, turning his wrist so he could grasp his hand better. “Nick, what’s the issue?”

“I need you to okay the last three operations I sent to your e-mail. They need to leave within the week and I need your insight. Anything else can wait a week, and if it can’t, I’ll call. Get some sleep, Cheese,” Fury rumbles before turning around in a swish of leather and leaving.

“Well, that was eventful,” Clint comments.

Phil turns his head to look at Clint. Some colour is finally returning to his face, and his soft hair is a beautiful mess. Clint wants to touch it so badly, he ends up sitting on his free hand. It’s a bad, bad idea, with the burn and all, but it’s better than going against Phil's wishes right now. “Thank you for defending me,” he says.

“Someone had to, with you being Sleeping Beauty over here,”

“I don’t really think I’m the fairest of them all, Clint.”

“You are for me,” he blurts out, heat flooding his cheeks instantly. Could he get any cheesier? Barton, you dummy. “Anyway,” he continues hastily, “I was wondering if you wanted to stay with me in Bed Stuy for a couple of days? You need the rest, and I thought it would be good to get away from this circus, yeah?”

Phil frowns, “Clint, I don’t think we should-“

“What, I can’t be your friend anymore, either?” Clint asks, hoping his grin wouldn’t betray the underlying hurt.

“No, that's not what I meant. Are you sure?” Phil asks.

“Wouldn’t have asked ya otherwise, Phil,” Clint says. He’s so sick of SHIELD and that’s not something he can avoid at Avengers Tower. He’s going home no matter what, and he’s not ready to let Phil out of his sight again. Clint and Natasha had just returned from Bed Stuy when May had called Sitwell to tell him that she was bringing Phil in an ambulance. Clint’s heart had stopped. He remembers the rush, Phil’s new team crowding around the man who was heavily sedated by the time he’d reached the Tower, calling Tony, Bruce and Bobbi to run diagnostics, the two British agents watching in wonder while the Avengers tried to discover what was wrong with the LMD. With Phil. Clint who’d unknowingly shoved some kid out of the way to be beside his...Phil.

Her name was Skye and she was the 0-8-4 Phil had told him about. May had held her while she’s burst into tears, but Clint had only noticed later. He remembers being alone with Phil while Natasha kept everyone else out with the sheer power of her glare. He remembers tapping their secret code into Phil’s wrist and hoping against all hope that it would help Phil escape his nightmares, since waking out of them wasn’t an option anymore. He remembers the knowing look on his teammates’ faces, and Skye asking in the background, “So are they like...” and being shushed by FitzSimmons.

This certainly wasn’t how Clint imagined meeting Phil’s team. Natasha and Clint had been formulating plans on the way back. There were arrows involved, and the vents. Oh, well. He’s brought out of his reflections by a hand to his wrist. “So when can we go home, Clint?”

Clint smiles. Home.

“Right now, if you want. Bruce says you’re good, you just need rest.”

***

They’re saved a drive to SHIELD by May, who hands them a duffle bag, or rather, hands Clint a duffle bag. Phil is walking on his own, but he’s still unsteady on his feet. He tries to take the bag from Clint, but two raised eyebrows are all he needs to let the question go unanswered. “Be good to yourself, Phil,” May tells the older man before turning to Clint, “And you keep those keen eyes on him, you hear?”

Clint salutes and May awards him a small smile. She has and always will remind him of Natasha, akin to what Natasha will be like in 15 years. She slips him keys as she walks away and Clint laughs when he recognizes them. Lola. He shows off to Phil who rolls his eyes and mutters something about meddlers under his breath and they go _home_.

Clint groans the moment they cruise in front of his apartment because one of those track suit assholes are right there, yelling at old Mrs. Miller and waving a baseball bat around. He doesn’t have time for this shit. “Stay here,” he orders, parking the car and jumping out, thanking his lucky stars he had grabbed his bow.

“Hey, bro,” he calls out to Mr. Tracksuit, “kindly step the hell away from my building and my tenants,” advancing toward him, electro-suction arrow aimed straight at the thug’s forehead. He's been using putty arrows so far, but this is it. He is actually done with this shit. He might be out of practice, but after shooting flying aliens in the eyeball, slow humans with baseball bats are easy as pie.

“Yo, bro, go fuck yourself, bro,”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Clint is so sick and tired of these fucking assholes, and he has no patience left. Clint lets loose before Mr. Tracksuit has the chance to lift his bat and he goes down like he’s made of solid rock. Mrs. Miller squeaks and pulls her poor cat closer to her, taking a step backward.

“Listen up, bro,” he says to the seizing man on the ground, “you’re going to run back to your track suit buddies and tell them to stay the fuck away from this building, unless they want to deal with the Avengers, you hear me?”

He doesn’t reply, probably because he’s being electrocuted by a trick arrow, so Clint pulls the arrow off of him. “Capisce, _bro_?”

The thug staggers up and away from Clint, hands up in front of his chest in defence. “Okay, bro, got it bro,” and takes off at a run. Clint checks the arrow for damage before sticking it back in his quiver and turns to Mrs. Miller. “Are you okay, Mrs. Miller?”

“Oh Clint, you sweetheart, thank you. He scared the bejeezus out of me. Could you help me take Missy and my groceries upstairs, dear? “She asks, pointing to her wheeled grocery bag and cat.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Miller,” He grabs the bag for her and turns back to tell Phil to join him, only to find him walking towards him with the duffle hand. He reaches them by the time Clint finds his house keys, and Mrs. Miller eyes the older man in the suit with clear appreciation.

“And who might you be, young man?” She asks Phil, who looks at Clint with a half smile at the word young. Clint grins and opens the door.

“Phil Coulson, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a friend of Clint’s.” Phil offers his hand, and Mrs. Miller takes it. Missy pats the top of the joined hands with a paw.

“Oh, that means she likes you, dear. You should come visit more often; Clint doesn’t get too many visitors, you know?”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Clint defends himself as he walks up the stairs, the other two behind him. “Kate’s around all the time.”

“That poor girl needs to stop worrying about you and get a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, maybe.”

“Mrs. Miller!” Clint gasps, mock scandalised, and he turns back at the top of the first flight of stairs and winks at her. “Kate has a boyfriend," well, she did the last time he checked, "and Natasha comes over all the time.”

“Oh, is she the blonde one? She’s pretty,” Mrs. Miller notes as she lets Missy out of her hands to climb up the stairs.

“Um, no, that’s Bobbi.”

“Ahhh Ex-Mrs. Barton. I like her,” she muses. “She helped me make pesto the other day. Good to know her name now.”

“What? When was this? What other day?” The last thing he needs is Bobbi getting involved with his neighbours. He likes them, he wants them to stay.

“So I guess Natasha’s the one who looks like a Bond girl?” Clint snorts and can hear the sharp intake of breath that Phil takes behind Mrs. Miller. “With all the red hair, because damn, that’s a gorgeous one.Could smile a bit more though.” Clint promises himself that he’ll tell Nat what his neighbour said, even if he gets thrown flat on his back in training for it. Because, that is gold. “What about her Clint? Why don’t you ask her out? I’m sure she’d say yes. Phil, what do you think? Do you know Natasha, would she say yes?”

“Uhhh...”Phil starts, obviously unsure of what to say so Clint decides to save him the trouble.

“I did once, Mrs. Miller, didn’t end so well.” Clint says with a laugh.

“Oh dear.” She turns to look at Phil, "And what about you young man? Are you single? Clint's quite a catch, you know. Don't tell anyone, but he's Hawkguy."

"Eye," Clint corrects, refusing to look at Phil.

"Yes, you. You're Hawkguy!"

Clint swallows his exasperated sigh and smiles at Mrs. Miller, putting the bag down in front of her door on the second floor. “You all right from here, Mrs. Miller?”

“Yes, dear, now go on up. Nice to meet you, Phil dear,” she tells him and the pair continue up to the fourth floor.

Phil is winded by the time they get there and he sits down on the stairs as Clint fumbles with the keys again. Memory only reminds him after the door is open the mess that’s his apartment after... Natasha. “It’s kinda messy, sorry,” he says as Phil gets up off the stairs and follows him in.

“Don’t worry about it.” The windows had been shut, and it’s stuffy. He hadn’t bothered to turn the heating on for the one day that he’d been here. There’s a half-eaten pizza they’d ordered on the coffee table, and dirty dishes on the floor. He brings a hand up to his face.

“Okay, first things first, I gotta clean a bit, do you want to hang out on the sofa?” he asks as he shrugs out of his jacket and throws it into the hallway closet. He takes Phil’s jacket and hangs it up on the hanger. Sliding the door shut behind him, he walks over to his windows, opening them to let in some much needed fresh air before turning on the heater, and thanking God in his mind that Tony and Pepper aren’t here to criticise his lack of concern for sustainable living.

“Can I help?” Phil asks.

“No, thank you. You’re under doctor’s orders to get rest. No more overdoing it.”

“It’s just a little cleaning up, “Phil protests.

Clint looks up from where he’s starting picking up the cold pizza and dirty dishes in the living room. “No fucking way. I didn’t yell at Fury so you could help me clean my house. Sit down. Do you want coffee or tea or something? I might have tea.” Maybe. Katie likes tea.

“On one condition. You tell me what the deal is with the guy downstairs who likes terrorising nosy old cat ladies,” Phil says, dropping his duffle by the entrance and moving towards the breakfast bar to sit down on a stool, hands crossed together in front of him. Clint straightens up and looks at Phil, forgetting the question for a moment. His shirt is unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. Clint’s distracted by all the skin. “Clint?”

“What? Oh right. It’s not a big deal. They used to own the building until I bought it, and they’re not happy about it,” he explains as he dumps the dishes in the sink.

“You bought the building?”

“Yeah?”

“All right then,” Phil says as Clint begins washing the dishes. “Pass me the rag, I’ll wipe down the counters.”

“You’re not supposed to-“

“You’re not giving me the whole story, and I want to be useful.” Phil stands up and walks towards him, pressing against his side to grab the towel and squeeze water out.

Clint sighs. “It’s a long story. Another time.” Clint’s not ready to talk about Barney or the mess with Penny and his late gorgeous vintage car. It’s not a big deal. Thor fights galactic forces and Steve has all of Hydra and even Bruce has some badass enemies in the military. Compared to them, Clint’s problems are just peanuts.

“All right,” Phil says, and for a moment, Clint thinks Phil’s mad, but when he turns around to look at Phil where he’s wiping down the stove, he’s smiling at Clint.

The next half an hour is easy and quiet, Clint vacuums and Phil sneezes a lot (dog allergies, unfortunately). Phil orders dinner (pizza, obviously) and cleans out the fridge of what looks like Darwinism. Clint would be embarrassed, but back in the days of Strike Team Delta, he’d found worse things in Phil’s fridge. Like two month old lasagne. They don’t eat lasagne anymore.

He drags the vacuum up the stairs and that’s when the pungent smell of sex hits him. Turning the vacuum cleaner off, he carefully steps around the red strap-on on the floor to open the windows, then in Clint Barton fashion, trips over the unseen plug and lands on his ass, or more accurately, onto the plug. Forget his years of SHIELD training or the fact that he had walked the tightrope at the circus. Clint swears, mixing up a bit of Russian in there for some variety while picking up the plug and throwing it in the general direction of the bathroom. At least it doesn’t miss.

“Are you alright?” Clint turns around to find Phil at the top of the stairs. “I thought I heard-“

Oh, lovely. He’s eyeing the strap-on with an expression that Clint can’t place. “Okay, this looks bad,” Clint says. Sort of. Did he need to explain himself? He feels like he should. He turns away to hide his mortified blush and goes to open the windows. “I can explain.”

“You don’t owe me any explanation, Clint. You’re an adult.” Right. Clint’s 35 and he’s still not so sure about that. He’s relieved when the bell rings.

“Must be the pizza,” Clint says, digging out his wallet from his left back pocket to hand over some cash.

“I got it, Clint.” Phil says, waving away the cash and walking back downstairs. Clint takes the time to dump the toys in the bathroom sink and rinse them thoroughly before drying them and sticking them back in his drawer. He strips the bed of its deep blue sheets and dumps them in the laundry basket before running back downstairs to get fresh purple (thank you Kate) linens out of the front closet.He passes Phil, who’s in the process of getting things set up on the coffee table.

“Sorry, just five minutes, Phil.”

Phil swallows and nods. “Don’t worry about it. Let me know if you need help.” The image of Phil spread out on his bed almost stops him in his tracks.

“No. It’s okay. Uh- thanks.”

He sprints back up the stairs and takes his time making the bed. By the time he’s come downstairs, it’s six pm and Phil’s rooting through his DVD collection. “Any preferences?” he asks Clint, eyes still locked on the DVDs.

“Nah, I’m game for anything.” He drops onto the couch, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box. “Ohh, pepperoni. Damn, that’s good.”

“Firefly?”

“Whedon is God, I say to thee, yes!”

Soon, Phil joins him and they start with episode one. Phil sits with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, Clint more or less sprawls, careful of Phil. It’s chilly and it’s only later that they realize they’d left all the windows open. The pizza is finished half way through _The Train Job_ when Clint realizes that Phil has been falling asleep, so he gently shakes him awake and they begin put things away (Phil’s idea). Phil’s flattening the cardboard when Clint comes down from the loft, having shut all the windows. “It was Natasha.That night after we... um.”

Phil slowly and deliberately puts the cardboard down in the pile in the corner and turns to look at Clint. “Okay.”

“It wasn’t like...”Clint doesn’t know how to put into words what he needed. That it was Phil, not Natasha or anyone else he’d craved that night. That Phil had left him feeling empty and unwanted that night. Phil doesn’t need to hear that though. Clint just wants Phil to understand that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved Phil.

“Clint, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I really mean it. It’s all right.” And Phil looks so gentle and steady that Clint lets it go, he accepts Phil trust in him, for now. He waits for it to get awkward, but it doesn’t. Phil washes his hands and then goes to grab his duffle, which Clint takes from him.

“Let’s go to bed.” Clint says, and thankfully Phil doesn’t argue. Because Clint is too tired to argue about sleeping on the couch when his bed is clearly big enough.

Clint takes his laundry downstairs to stick in the washing machine and leaves Phil to get ready for bed. When he comes back upstairs, Phil is exiting the bathroom, wearing in low hanging flannel pyjama pants and a white undershirt, his dirty clothes in his hands.

“You can hang those up in there, if you want,” Clint says, pointing to his wardrobe before entering the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He holds onto the sink while breathing in. He’s done this so often, spent the last few nights holding Phil’s hand, so it’s absurd that he’s finding it so difficult this time. But the idea of Phil in _his_ bed, sleep warm and placid, is tempting. It’s not that he’s turned on, that he could deal with in the privacy of his bathroom. It’s this aching in his chest that he can’t control. He takes another deep breath and then splashes ice cold water on his face. He can do this. Or not. He calls Natasha and sits down on the side of the bathtub.

“Is everything alright?”

“He’s in my bed, Nat.”

She laughs and laughs.

“This isn’t funny!”

“It kind of is, I mean, this is what you wanted for a really long time. Go get him, tiger.”

“Fuck off. You’re a terrible friend.”

She laughs again.

“I love you,” Clint says, knowing she’ll never say it back. But she doesn’t need to say it when she shows it in a million ways.

“Good night, dummy. It's going to be fine.”

He cuts the call and puts the phone on top of the toilet tank. His own blue flannel pyjamas are hanging in the bathroom and he switches his jeans for them. Sticking a toothbrush with toothpaste in his mouth, he pulls of his socks and Henley and throws them to the corner of the bathroom where the laundry basket usually sits.

The wife beater he keeps on, and doesn’t even bother with the compression garment. It’s scarring, who cares about scarring anyway? He looks in the mirror for a moment. It’s not disgusting, it’s just rather red, doesn’t hurt anymore, though it does itch. He wonders what Phil would think of it. His hands itch with the need to shoot again; he hasn’t been allowed a nice long session on the rangefor so long it’s agonizing. He takes yet another deep breath, exhales and walks out of the bathroom. Phil is sitting on the bed tablet in hand, but he looks up when he hears Clint.

“No. No work tonight. It’s time to get some shut eye.” Clint tries to go for nonchalant and probably fails by a couple of decimal units.

Phil puts the tablet on the bedside table and stands up to pull the bed covers down. “All right then. Just for tonight.”

Clint turns the lights off and by habit finds his bed. He pulls the covers up to his neck and turns to his side, facing Phil, who is lying on his back. After a moment, Phil reaches for Clint’s wrist, the injured one, and wraps his hands around it gently. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No, just itches,” Clint says. Phil turns to his side and faces him. It’s pitch black, but Clint is Hawkeye and he can see Phil through the shadows. Phil looks worried.

They don’t speak anymore, and it’s weird to be in bed and facing each other, or it should be weird, but Clint’s heart doesn’t ache in that strange way anymore and he closes his eyes. _I’m not going anywhere,_ he taps against Phil’s wrist.

***

The third time that Phil starts begging in his sleep to let him die, Clint shakes him awake and gathers him in his arms, cradling Phil’s head against his chest and whispering promises into his ear. Phil clutches tight, fingers digging into his shoulder and ass. Clint lets him.

They don’t wake until late morning.

***

Breakfast is a quiet affair, as is the rest of the day. Clint finishes his laundry and dumps the clothes on the coffee table to fold while Phil runs through operations on his tablet. There are a couple of two litre bottles of water beside him. Phil’s major job at the moment is to drink them both by the end of the day.

“How long have you had that shirt?” Phil asks him finally, regarding the Captain America t-shirt that Clint’s folding and Clint flushes red as Natasha’s hair.

“A while,” he mumbles before putting the folded laundry back in the basket to take upstairs. He opens his wardrobe and debates putting the Captain America t-shirt back in. He doesn’t really need it anymore, it stopped smelling like Phil years ago no matter what his nose tells him. He takes it back down and hands it to Phil, “Sorry, you can have it back,” he says, staring at his bare toes.

Phil puts a finger to his chin and tilts his head up, and he looks so sad Clint can’t stomach it. “It’s okay. It’s yours,” Phil tells him. But giving it up seems rather easier than Clint had expected now because he doesn’t need it anymore, not when he has Phil, real and tangible right in front of him. “I’m sorry you had to mourn me,” Phil says, handing the t-shirt back. Clint takes it and their fingers touch momentarily.

Clint doesn’t say anything because he’s not sure his voice won’t break. Instead lets the laundry be and curls up next to Phil and naps on the couch for the next few hours, Phil running a hand through his hair while working on operations. It isn’t something friends do, but Phil started it and Clint won’t complain. He leaves Phil to a shower and goes grocery shopping, cooking up a mean stew by dinner time.

That night, they crawl into bed and become wrapped in each other within moments, arms and entangled and breathing in the air each other breathed out. Phil wakes up only twice but doesn’t beg for death and Clint is grateful that Phil doesn’t say anything about the wetness on his face.

***

The next day, Dr. Song walks into his apartment with a med kit and the kind of fury Clint’s only experienced from the Hulk. She sits him down and tells him to at least keep his compression garment on at night, and then gives him permission to shoot for three hours a day. She also gives him a cream for the itching and tells him it’s a good sign.

Phil spends the next hour massaging his arm and shoulder with the cream, sitting behind him on the bed. It’s relieving and agonizing at the same time. The itchiness of the healing skin is soothed, but it feels like it’s on fire again as those limber fingers rub firmly in circles. Clint has to go to the bathroom and jerk off afterwards, and when he comes back out, he finds Phil asleep on his bed.

That’s how the next few days pass by, Phil sleeping and sometimes working, with Clint actually playing landlord for a change. It’s lazy and domestic and everything they’d never dreamed of, but they fit together like two pieces of the ever clichéd puzzle.

Natasha brings a get well card for Phil from his team. They’re all working at Avengers Tower together. Tony stops by for half an hour to watch Dog Cops with them on Thursday and leaves after insulting Clint’s couch.

Then one morning, a little over a week after Phil had come home, Clint’s phone starts playing _Don’t Stop Believing_ at five a.m. and Clint reaches back to pull the phone on the night table off of its charger. Phil, suddenly awake and alert, pulls away from the crook of Clint’s neck to shoot him a questioning look.

“What the hell, shellhead?” Clint growls into the phone.

“Oh, sorry man, did we bother you? I thought you’d want to know that we found a way for your boyfriend to astral project back into his own body. But never mind-“

Clint’s wide awake. “What? When? How?”

“Get over here as soon as you can,” Tony tells him and cuts the line.

Clint looks at Phil, and he’s nigh on delirious. He pushes Phil down onto the bed by the shoulder and covers his mouth with his own. It’s uncomfortable at first and Phil takes a long moment to respond, but then he does. Phil has morning breath and Clint probably does, too, but who cares, because it’s perfection. Clint can’t help it, he laughs into Phil’s mouth, then into the crook of his neck, relieved.

“Clint?”

“They found you a way.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help comes from a familiar, if unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks to ereshai, without whom this story would not be half as good.

“I called in the big guns,” Tony tells them as they walk to Bruce’s lab rooms. He’d met them at the entrance to the Tower. Clint is beside him in flannel pajama pants and a hoodie thrown over the wife beater. Phil had been frozen in shock after they’d received the call so early in the morning, not completely comprehending the news, whereas Clint had kissed him again and again until he had realized they were losing precious time. It may have been a mistake to let Clint get so close, but for the life of him, Phil's having a difficult time regretting it.

The fire of Clint’s hand on his knee on their hasty drive back to the Tower hasn’t faded yet. Phil doesn't want it to.

They enter the lab and find Bruce fast at work at one of his holotables, long gone in another world with Tony, who is working beside him. Steve waves them over from atop one of the work benches. They sit down next to him. “I hope you don’t mind me being here, it’s nothing official, I just can’t sleep when Tony’s down here so late,” Steve says sheepishly.

“No, of course not. I hope I’m not responsible for you losing too much sleep,” Phil says, tilting his head slightly.

"Absolutely not,” Steve replies with a smile.“If it weren’t this it would be something else. I don’t sleep much anyway.” Insomnia was the new seasonal epidemic, it would seem.

FitzSimmons walk in the door and behind them is a familiar man in a wheelchair. Phil turns towards him, eyes widening. It can’t be. Not Charles, he wouldn’t have done that to Phil would he? “Charles-“

 _“Good morning, and no, Phil, I was not aware of any of this. When I read your mind, I genuinely thought it was you,”_ Phil hears clearly, though the professor’s lips haven’t moved.

“Like I said, I called in the big guns.” Tony grins from behind the holotable.

“Well, technically-“ Fitz begins.

“Yeah, yeah, Oliver Wood over there was the one with the idea to call in Charles. Stop looking at me like I threw your broom at the Whomping Willow." Tony rolls his eyes at Fitz fondly and Phil notes absently that he should never have let the two of them meet. He shares an exasperated look with Steve.

“Well, I think it’s rather ridiculous that you three spent weeks trying put someone’s mind back in their body and didn’t bother calling the world’s greatest telepath-“

“Not to mention one of the foremost experts on human biology on the planet,” Simmons adds, bouncing on her toes.

“That’s very kind of you, Dr. Fitz, Dr. Simmons,” Charles adds, _“Rather adorable, aren’t they?”_

 _“They remind me of you when you were younger, to be honest,”_ Phil thinks and Charles wrinkles his nose.

“Excuse me, it’s not like I have to run a company-“

“I’m pretty sure Pepper does that,” Phil comments. Tony waves him off, far from being done with his tirade.

“-and save the world, and sometimes even the universe, don’t believe me? Ask Peter Quill! Oh and yeah, taking the time to be an awesome boyfriend to a super soldier with an incredible refractory period.” Steve flushes bright red at that, and Phil’s own cheeks heat up. “So yeah, it’s possible that such an idea slipped my mind. I’m not a god, no matter how sexy I am, that’s Thor. Seriously Fitz.” Tony still looks absolute incensed at the idea that he missed something, and turns to Bruce.“And BY the way. What,” he pauses dramatically, “is the point of having a science bro if said science bro can’t think of the shit I forget, huh? DUM-E, no smoothies for Bruce for a week,” he orders even though the aforementioned bot isn’t in Bruce’s lab.

Phil’s lips turn upward at Bruce’s mumbled, “Oh, thank God.”

“Please don’t tell me you woke me up at five in the morning to listen to Tony bitch,” Clint says.

“Tony, let’s get to the point, shall we?” Steve says. Tony stops mid-rant and turns to them.

“What? Oh right. Agent Coulson and the case of SHIELD stealing my shit. Charles darling, want to give it a go?” Tony asks, settling himself on Steve’s other side.

"Thank you, Tony,” Charles says. “I was informed about the situation yesterday morning, and we’ve come up with a plausible theory on your mind’s apparent incapability to return to its original body.” He wheels himself closer to Phil; FitzSimmons follow. “What SHIELD researchers discovered was that your mind is resisting being returned to your own body, what they didn’t discover was why.”

“Well, they don’t exactly have experience in swapping minds,” Bruce says with a smile in Charles’ direction. “Everything they tried was technical. They tried to remove the neural link device and almost wiped everything clean- sorry.” Bruce says with a look in Phil’s direction. It should be distressing to know how close he’d been to death, but Phil just waves him off, no longer surprised at the things that his body had been forced to suffer. “Apparently, they tried a couple of things while you were asleep in the Bus. Not that you could tell, they kept replacing memories with Tahiti.”

“How did they know when I was asleep?” Phil asks.

“LMD.” Tony answers. How long had he been in the machine when they’d finally healed his body?

“Basically, they failed because they don’t know how consciousness works, unlike Professor Xavier,” Simmons adds, still clearly awestruck.

“And what did you find then, Professor?” Clint asks.

“Well, as you are all undoubtedly aware, my psionic powers give me the ability to read minds. What is sometimes forgotten, mainly thanks to myself, is that I have the ability to take control of another’s psyche and therefore, their body as well.” SHIELD didn’t know this, but Phil did, a secret he kept for a dear friend.

Clint tenses, and it only takes a fraction of a second for Phil to remember Clint’s feelings on mind control and he places a hand on the small of Clint’s back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“I once tried to enter the mind of a coma patient, in the hope that I could bring them back to consciousness. What I did not realize then, was that in that particular patient, their brain was unoccupied, and I quickly lost control. My mind could no longer distinguish between my own body and theirs. I knew the difference, but a part of me just couldn’t see it. That is the same here. Your mind can’t distinguish between your body and your LMD. In my case, I was trapped for a few hours, and the longer I was in there, the harder it was to get back out.” Charles points to the opened model of the LMD on the holotable. “You’ve been conscious and using that for over 18 months now, and worse, you were not aware that it wasn’t your own body in the first place, otherwise you would have fought, at least in the beginning.”

“We believe that’s why SHIELD had such a hard time pulling you back. It was five months before they worked up the courage to try, and by then your consciousness was settled within the LMD,” Simmons adds quietly.

Five months. Five months of running around while his body failed within SHIELD. Clint tenses under his hand, and Phil realizes that he’s pressing too hard against his hip. Phil lets go automatically. “But you found a solution.”

“At least, we think we did,” Bruce says.

“What do you mean, you think you did?” Clint asks.

“Well, it’s never been done before, we can’t be sure of anything.” Tony answers.

“I believe that I can guide your mind into your body.”Charlessays.

“Through mind control,” Clint says flatly. Phil’s touched by the concern, but he’s also becoming a little irritated by Clint answering for him again. On the other hand, Clint has a blank look on his face; from experience, Phil knows it’s panic, not simply concern. Phil taps on Clint’s waist, _it’s okay, I trust him, please let me talk for myself_. Clint relaxes slightly, bringing his arms up and crossing them over his chest.

“And why do you think this would work?” Phil asks.

“This is how I teach the telepaths and astral projectors at the Institute in the beginning, when they find themselves trapped. I am not certain if it would work in this case, but I have no reason to believe it wouldn’t.”

But this isn’t two bodies they were dealing with here, he’s a machine. Would it still work? For the most part, Phil doesn’t care, he just wants to be Phil Coulson again.

“And you have no other options?” Phil turns to the scientists and asks.

“SHIELD tried most everything, to be honest, sir. It’s why we called the professor in the first place,” Fitz answers.

“That’s kind of what happens when you test unapproved, incomplete technology in ways it was never meant to be used,” Tony criticizes. It’s clear that Iron Man’s relationship with SHIELD has been completely destroyed.

“Tony,” Steve chides.

“Yeah, back on track, I know.”

“We want to give you some time to think about it. Even if this works, there are definitely risks. Your body’s been in a coma for over a year, Phil. Bobbi and the doctors upstairs understand that better,” Tony tells him.

“We could all use some sleep. Especially you, Phil, before you make any decisions.” Bruce says, pushing his glasses up his nose with two fingers. “How about we meet in Medical at noon, and you have a talk with Bobbi before then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Phil says.

Steve stands up, grabbing Tony by the hand to pull him along. “Okay, we’re going to get some shut eye.”

“But-“

“No, Tony. Let’s go to bed. Charles, agents, if you would come with us, I can lead you to guest rooms,” Steve says, walking towards the door. FitzSimmons and Charles follow him. “Good night, everyone.”

“Good night,” Phil, Clint and Bruce reply simultaneously. Clint stands up and holds out a hand to Phil, which he takes.

“Try to get some sleep, big guy,” Clint tells Bruce before leading them toward the door.

“Agent Coul- Phil,” Bruce starts, and Phil turns back in question.

“Yes?”

“I would take time to seriously think your decision through. You should remember that your body has been in a coma for a very long time, and that has its side effects. Bobbi can explain it to you better, but keep in mind: you might not be able to speak or move in your body. You might just not wake up after all. We don’t know.You can still say yes later. Charles can always come another day.”

Phil swallows. To live as a fake or die real? It’s not even a question, but he knows the answer. “Thank you, Bruce.”

He turns back and sees Clint trembling in front of him. “Clint, come on.” Clint doesn’t respond so Phil grabs him by the neck gently. “It’s okay, Clint. Let’s go.” Clint shakes his head and follows Phil to the elevator.

They’re silent, hands to themselves until they enter Clint’s apartment. Clint closes the door behind him and Phil suddenly finds himself up against it, Clint’s lips hungry on his own. The kiss is desperate; Clint bites Phil’s bottom lip carelessly and forcefully, then sucks on his tongue. Phil can do nothing but feel.

No.

Phil can’t do this. Not yet. He pushes Clint away, panting out, “Stop it.”

“Please don’t do this,” Clint begs. “What if Bruce is right and we lose you for good? Please, please don’t do this. You’re alive, and you’re here! I don’t care either way; I can spend my life with you like this.”

Phil cradles Clint’s face in his hands, fingers tangled in ashen locks of hair, hoping to calm him. “Oh, Clint.” Clint kisses him again but Phil forces him back by the grasp on his neck. Clint holds his wrists and stares at him, eyes betraying fear. “No, you have to listen to me. Stop it. Stop it or I’m walking out. I can’t do this.” Letting Clint kiss him in bed at home- NO- in Clint’s apartment, had been a terrible mistake.

“We can keep you safe, we’ll keep your body safe and everything will be okay. You don’t have to go back!”

“Clint, please respect my decision. I haven’t made it yet, but it is mine to make. Please let me have that at least.” He tries to explain but Clint is beyond reason.

“Phil, let’s wait, let them test it-“

“How? They can’t test something that has no fixed standard. I trust Charles, Clint.”

Clint isn’t listening anymore, he raises a hand and pressed it against Phil chest and Phil recoils in disgust. It’s just a fake. “Stop it. It’s not the real scar. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“Promise me you won’t leave again.”

“Let’s go to sleep.”

“You promised.” Clint shoves him against the door. “How can you say you love me, and then do this to me? Why do you always get to make the decisions? Why do you always leave me out of everything?"

That cuts. Clint is right, he's completely right. Phil has no answer for that, so instead he pushes Clint away and escapes to the bedroom. Clint doesn’t follow. The drawers are rather bare, but he finds pajamas pants in the drawers. He changes into the pajamas facing away from the door and when he turns back, Clint is leaning against the door frame, clad now only in sweats, hoodie in hand. The anger is drained out of him; Clint now simply looks like a frightened child.

“Let’s go to bed,” Phil tells him, forcing himself not to walk over and hold Clint tight, instead pulling out his phone to set the alarm for a couple of hours from now. There’s no point in arguing anymore, both their minds are clearly made up. Phil climbs into bed, bracing himself on his elbows. “Come on, Clint,” he says wearily.

Clint tosses his hoodie on the ground and switches the lights off. Phil turns in bed, facing away from Clint and closes his eyes. The bed dips and the covers rustle. Then there’s a hesitant hand against his back and Phil unwillingly arches against the warmth. Encouraged, Clint edges closer until his chest lines up with Phil’s back, hand now wrapped around Phil, carefully avoiding his chest. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.

“You don't have me yet,” Phil whispers back, and Clint tenses for a moment, ready to argue the point, but then slumps against him, the fight drained out of him. He presses Phil backwards until he’s flush against Clint’s chest.

Clint slowly succumbs to sleep, physically and mentally exhausted, pulling away a little bit only to tuck his head between Phil’s shoulder blades. Phil lays awake. When he’s sure that Clint is asleep, Phil turns until he's facing Clint, the brilliance of New York City at night lighting Clint’s face so he can carefully catalogue every detail. The younger man sleeps in fetal position, with his hand outstretched towards Phil. Phil takes the opportunity to trace fingers over Clint’s eyes, cheeks, lips. Clint remains asleep; Phil still doesn’t know if this is trust or exhaustion. Trust is something he doesn’t really deserve anymore.

He wonders if he could do it, spend the rest of his life in this shell. He knows that love is for souls, not bodies, but he can't help the feeling that it's wrong. Wryly, he realizes he's starting to sound like his sister, who'd been born a man. They both simply wanted to be in bodies where they felt most at home. He wonders what would be harder, to spend life in this shell or in a wasted body. His body is a haggard bag of skin and bone right now; he wonders if Clint would prefer being fucked by a machine over that hideously distorted mess. Phil's always believed love is for souls, not bodies; but that doesn't mean his mind doesn't wander sometimes.

Phil stays still, allowing Clint to wrap himself around Phil in his sleep, Clint’s nestled under Phil’s neck. He pulls his arms around Clint, rubbing up and down his arms, his shoulders, his back; finally removing his hands three hours later to turn the alarm clock off seconds before it would have started ringing.

Phil attempts to gingerly pull away from Clint, but the archer jerks awake and Phil turns back to face him again. “Stay in bed, I’m just going to take a shower,” he says softly, fingers tracing the cut of Clint’s jaw. Clint relaxes at the touch, eyes fluttering shut. Phil’s heart constricts at the vision, of sunlight streaming through Clint’s hair, warming his skin.

“Okay,” Clint mumbles and reaches out blindly to run a thumb along Phil’s lip. “Come back to bed after.”

“Okay.”

He showers, rummages through Clint’s clothes for slacks - they’re a little too small- and a soft grey Henley, which is looser at the shoulders. Turning around, he takes one last look at the sleeping man before heading to the living room and opening up the suitcase that he had left here weeks ago. Inside, there’s only his SHIELD badge, his Glock 27, and the dendrotoxin gun. It would be so easy, he thinks, to sedate Clint so he doesn't have to hear him asking Phil not to make this choice. He wouldn't have to worry about looking into his terrified eyes again.

“What are you doing, Phil?” Clint asks from the doorway to the bedroom, hair standing in a hundred different directions. He gives one final thought to the dendrotoxin and lets it fall back in the bag. LMD or human, that's not who Phil is. Phil turns and saunters over to Clint.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed?” he asks just as he reaches him. He doesn't mean to, he wants to keep his distance today, but his brain's not a hundred percent there yet. Phil raises his hands up hesitantly to Clint’s bare stomach. Clint shudders at the touch but leans in.

“And I thought I asked you to come back to bed,” Clint says. “I… have you made up your mind yet?” Clint looks so vulnerable and terrified, and Phil had thought his decision had been made when Clint had picked up his phone and answered Tony, but now his resolve crumbles.

“No.”

Clint sags in clear relief.

“I’m going to have a more detailed conversation with Bobbi about the risks, and then I’m going to make a decision. You can come with me if you want,” Phil tells him.

Clint comes even closer and wraps his arms around Phil. Phil can’t help it, he brings his hands up to Clint’s clavicles, framing them with his fingers. “I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want to risk this. I know it’s your decision, I know that- but Phil…”

Phil sighs and looks into Clint’s sea foam eyes. “I told you before that I don’t ever want to hurt you. And you're right, I promised you I wouldn't leave again. But I don't feel like I'm with you right now in the first place.” Clint opens his mouth to disagree but Phil cuts him off before he has the chance to say a word. “I love you. I want to do this right."

Clint shudders at those words and Phil can’t help but laugh at the reaction. “I love you, Clint Barton.” It’s giddy and cheesy but Clint shudders again and Phil is never going to stop loving this man, not until the day death truly and finally catches up to him.

Clint is not a man of many words, Phil knows this, so he accepts the unspoken declaration in the roaming of Clint’s hands up his back and to his neck, over his shoulders and back to his head. “I love you, and I want to have a serious relationship with you, and I don't know if that's something I can do in this body.”

“But what if Bruce is right, and you never wake up?”

Phil fights for words, doesn’t know how to say this without hurting Clint, without sending him running again. “Then you have to promise me to move on,” he tells him gently. And of course Clint tenses.

“I can’t, Phil.”

“You did it before with Bobbi, I know you can do it again.” Clint is stronger than he thinks, Phil only wishes he would see that.

“I didn’t, though.” Clint whispers, looking down at their bare feet.

“I’m sorry?” Phil asks.

“I didn’t move on, I told you that,” Clint closes his eyes and then slowly looks up at Phil. “I thought I did. I love Bobbi, don’t get me wrong, she’s the most amazing woman in the world. But then May would roll around and… I said your name a lot, when… you know. I didn’t even know. And then I'd feel so guilty because I was turned on by someone who I thought was dead... God I was so drunk half the time.”

Oh.

“And then I was deleting old voicemails in my phone, and I heard you,” Clint swallows and Phil doesn’t know how to make things better - he can’t change the past -so he doesn’t dare move, hands shaking against a trembling chest. Clint reaches into his pocket and pulls out his StarkPhone. “I couldn’t-“ He gulps again, and then presses a button on the phone.

_“Hey Clint, it’s me. I’m off to Miami to babysit Stark. I know you’re annoyed you can’t come with me and Natasha, but you know- never mind. Do you want to get lunch, or dinner, or something? We won’t see each other for a while. Call me back.”_

Phil remembers vividly being at the Triskelion in Washington. Remembers the rain and remembers being disappointed that Clint hadn’t called back. He remembers walking out the front doors and turning around to retrieve the forgotten umbrella, only to find Clint standing this in SHIELD issue sweats and a leather jacket thrown over a t-shirt, umbrella in hand. He remembers the hot chilidogs and being pressed up against Clint in the rain as they huddled under the umbrella.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Clint says with a watery smile, putting the phone away to bring his fingers up to Phil’s cheeks, wiping away tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed. “I just. I’d lied to myself and believed that I was over you. All it took was a single voice message and I was right there again.”

“Clint-“

“Bobbi’s super smart and she respects herself too much to put up with so much crap. I couldn’t do that to her, she deserves to have someone who loves her properly. I did love her. But that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you.” Phil finally starts to understand why Clint shudders the way he does when he hears those three difficult words, it’s like being whipped by butter-soft leather.. “And it doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop loving you," he whispers, hands still caressing his cheeks.

It’s ridiculous and self-destructive and not at all romantic. It’s a mess, a dirty, bloody, hot mess. But Phil understands this more than he’ll understand anything else, because it’s Clint. Clint who saved Natasha while she held a blade to his throat, with blood already trickling down his neck. Clint who still loves Barney after everything his older brother put him through; Clint who buys buildings to keep the tenants safe from thugs and generously gives and gives and gives because that is the Clint Barton that Phil fell in love with. Phil might not love the way Clint does, and he most definitely isn’t worthy of it; but love is not about worth, thank God, because Phil will never be worthy of this love. He can only embrace it and hope what he is is enough.

They hold each other for an eternity before Clint begins to smile. “It’s not a threat. I swear, make your choice. I guess I’ll have to stand by it. But I won’t make that promise, because I can’t keep it.”

“Okay,” Phil croaks. He knows it’s selfish, but there’s a part of him so possessive it doesn’t want this fake thing to have any claim on the man that Phil loves this much. He can’t help being so selfish that he knows if he fails, at least he won’t have to live past it anymore. Phil’s love isn’t as high or wide or deep as Clint’s, he knows that. But it’s just a part of him that he can’t let go.

But it is this love that makes Clint so much stronger than Phil, makes Clint able to fight against all the bastards who pushed him down until he won. And that thought is a comfort. Clint will survive. Clint probably doesn’t even know it, can’t fathom the very idea of it, so Phil tells him. “Clint, you are the strongest person I know. You’d make it through, I know that. You won’t fail. I know you. I love you.”

Clint shudders again. Phil closes his eyes, wishing for wisdom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.- So sorry this took a day longer than I would have liked. I'm moving and have no internet >.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have a problem." Natasha says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lovely ereshai for the beta. Also to Max72 because I wrote the entire story, came back to this chapter and rewrote every chapter and had to cry to her about it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Medical inaccuracy is bound to follow, tread wisely. Also, ignore any major medical inaccuracies because if comic book physics exists, so can comic book medicine:D Also, please please please don't google bed sores out of curiosity. Just don't. Trust me on this. I work in a hospital, just trust me on this.

Chapter 19

Clint is going to burn every single one of Phil Coulson’s clothes. It’s not that he doesn’t like the suits- the suits are fucking gorgeous but Phil, sitting beside him in Clint’s own clothes? It’s temptation times a million. It’s screaming to the world who Phil belongs to and Clint’s already making plans in his head. The Bus will be easy, the clothes at his quarters in SHIELD are going to be a little harder to confiscate-

“-Clint? Clint, are you even listening?” Bobbi’s looking at him with obvious annoyance. Well, she does have the right. They’re in an office on the medical floor, having a conversation about the medical side of things.

“I don’t understand half the words you’re saying, birdie,” Clint shoots back. Okay, maybe in reality, it’s more that he doesn’t want to hear the awful things that Bobbi is saying.

“Let me dumb it down, then, dummy,” she retorts. “Remember, I’m a biologist, not a medical doctor. As I was saying, there are risks to this procedure, not just for your mind, but for your body. Initially, when you were stabbed, you were technically dead for days, and SHIELD scientists put you in stasis to minimize damage. After you were healed, you were basically in a coma and developing long term issues that most coma patients deal with, like pressure ulcers-“

“Pressure ulcers?” Clint asks.

“Bed sores. Patients get them from prolonged bed rest. And then you developed pneumonia and an adverse reaction to the feeding tube. They weren’t finding a solution so after three months in the coma, you were put in a stasis. In the long term, they were worried about extreme pressure ulcers, which can result in fatality." Clint bites his cheek, _fatality_. "They figured until they could find a way to put you back in your body, it was better to keep you in stasis. It kept you safe, depended on basically nothing, and kept you elevated so that bedsores couldn’t form or worsen. It’s clever actually,” Bobbi muses.

“Not as clever as managing to put me back me back in my body, to be honest.”

Bobbi laughs. “Touché. I’ve been doing analysis with Bruce- he’s not a biologist but he’s good- about the effects of long term stasis. We just don’t know. I mean, you haven’t eaten anything in over a year.” She’s suddenly serious. “We don’t know if your digestive system can still function. From the diagnostics, it just looks frozen. The idea of stasis chambers came from finding Steve in the ice, but you’re not a super soldier, Phil, so we just don’t know. In addition, a lot of coma patients have temporary speech impediments, and difficulty walking. We’re not seeing any signs of muscle atrophy, but not having used your body in so long is going to have at least some detrimental effects. Well, other than the stage one and two bed sores, you’ll have to deal with them either way.”

“Bruce mentioned the possibility of being in a vegetative state. Is there a large chance of that?” Phil asks.

“Well, that’s something that could happen if your brain is too damaged,” Bobbi answers. “You would be conscious, and respond in varying degrees to simulation, unlike being in a coma. You’d respond to feeding, usually through a feeding tube or by others, and you’d swallow and your heart would beat, you would breath, your gastrointestinal system would work, and you might even have sleep-wake cycles, or you could be permanently awake. However, you would not have true awareness.”

“I would just exist.” Phil says quietly.

A cold tremor passes through Clint. To have Phil alive, but not aware, existing but not living. He doesn’t know if he could bear that possibility. Bobbi is looking at him carefully, and he knows he’s giving himself away, but this is Phil. Clint doesn’t care.

“Everything else,” Phil says. “I would be all right with all of that. They're temporary. This…isn’t”

“Well, if you have any other questions, do come find me. Otherwise, Fury’s here to see you,” Bobbi tells Phil.

“No, that’s all right. Thank you very much, Bobbi,” Phil stands up and Clint follows.

“Clint, sit your ass down, I need to talk to you,” she orders him.

Clint looks at Phil, reluctant to leave, but he just smiles back at him. “I’ll find you afterwards, Clint.”

Clint sits back down and Phil asks JARVIS where Fury is as he leaves.

“Whaddup, birdie-bird?” Clint asks with a wink. Bobbi rolls her eyes. That’s a good sign.

“We haven’t seen you at home in ages Clint. Can’t I ask how you’re doing?”

“I _was_ home, birdie. Ya guys knew I was helping Phil get better,” he tells her. “Just being a good friend and all.”

“ _Just_ a friend?” Bobbi raises her eyebrow.

Clint straightens. Bobbi is literally the last person he wants to have this conversation with. Why not? Let’s not look at how Bobbi treated Jess back when. “Please don’t get catty again?”

“Excuse me?” Bobbi asks, leaning threateningly forward on the desk.

"You heard me. You weren't exactly being nice about Jess-"

"Did you need to rub it in my face?" Bobbi snaps. "For the record, I was just worried because I knew you were using her too, and we all know how that ended.” Bobbi stands up, putting herself on even ground with him.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing! You’re the one who married me while you were still in love with that man!”

“I didn’t know, Bobbi!” Clint shouts back. “I didn’t know. I’m an asshole, I know that, but I thought I was over him, I thought I loved you! I did love you!” God, he makes a mess wherever he goes. “I still do.”

“You’re just not in love with me, right?” she says wryly.

“Bobbi, I-“ Clint runs a hand across his face, “I didn’t marry you thinking I was in love with someone else. I was a mess after the Chitauri invasion, I left SHIELD, and then I met you and I felt like… like one of the good guys again, you made me see the light. I loved you for that.”

“Then what happened, why did you leave?”

“Don’t put this blame on me, we agreed! You brought up divorce, not me!” Clint yells.

“I was making you miserable! What the hell was I supposed to do?” Bobbi shouts back. They both pause and look at each other for a tense moment. Then Clint smiles and they burst into laughter together. “God, we just don’t know how not to fight, do we?” Bobbi gasps out in between giggles.

“It’s a bad habit, birdie. I only know how to fall in love with women who're just as stubborn as me."

“Thank God we’re not together anymore then, because I think I’d have assassinated you by now.” Bobbi laughs again. She takes a deep breath and looks at him clear in the eyes. “Coulson's different. He’s calm.” She lets a soft smile peek through. "I like him."

“Me, too.”

“He might get hurt, Clint.”

“I know, I know, cause I haven’t heard it enough times already, can everyone stop saying that please?” Because Clint is sick and fucking tired of hearing it.

“We're saying it because we don't think you understand how serious the situation is, honey."

"Birdie-"

"Look, promise me. Promise me you'll talk to someone about this. Natasha, or Steve, or I don't know, that kid Kate, if it helps. Just don't bottle it all up and then let it out by getting drunk again."

Clint swallows. "Okay. I promise."

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a training session with Cannonball and Sunspot."

"Gonna show the kids who's boss around here?" Clint smirks.

"You bet your pretty ass I am."

***

He's making coffee in his apartment when Phil finds him.

"What did Fury want?"

"Melinda, Skye and Ward were on the search for Centipede. Apparently the Clairvoyant isn't actually clairvoyant, he's a high ranking SHIELD spy."

"Oh, jeez. Any clues?"

"None so far, but that would explain why they wanted to know about my death so badly. It's level 10 classified."

"But if they knew you were alive, this is an agent that's level 7 or higher," Clint says, passing a cup of coffee over to Phil.

"That doesn't exactly narrow down our possibilities, though," Phil answers, taking a sip. "Fury wants me back with the team full-time until we find the spy."

"And you said yes? Do you trust SHIELD?"

"With myself? I'm not sure. With world security? Yes. We're in the air in eight hours, the... the procedure will have to wait," Phil tells him.

"So ya made your decision, then?" Clint asks. He doesn't know what's worse, having him go through it now, or have the time to dread it even more.

"Yes," Phil swallows, looking at Clint, clearly searching for words. "I've decided that I need more time before I make this decision." The relief that floods him nearly sends him stumbling into the ground. Clint reaches forward and takes the coffee away, setting it on the counter before pulling Phil into a tight embrace. "I was so sure of what I wanted. And I trust Charles," Phil whispers into his neck. "But I... now that I have a solution, I feel... restless."

"They said to take your time, Phil," Clint reminds him. "It's okay."

"And Charles came all the way from Westchester."

"So what? This isn't like you're cancelling dinner. You're allowed to take your time in making this decision."

"I know. And now, we don't really have a choice about waiting anyway."

"Why don't you go for a run?" Clint suggests. "It's always calmed you down before, and you have the time."

Phil pulls away to look at Clint. "How do you notice these things?"

Clint shrugs. It's his job. If he spent a bit more time than normal memorizing everything about Phil, no one else needs to know.

***

Clint makes his way to Bruce's lab by noon; Phil isn't back yet. Charles Xavier, Tony and Bruce are already there, but Phil isn't.

"Where's Coulson?" Tony asks while fiddling with nunchaku for Shang-Chi.

"On a run, I thought he'd be back by now," Clint replies, pushing himself up onto an unused table. "There's a SHIELD situation. He's leaving tonight, so he can't do this now." He directs his next words at the Professor, "Sorry about wasting your time."

"No such thing. Logan's at the school with Ororo, they can do without me for a few hours," Charles says. "Though, if you don't mind, I'll be calling Kurt to take me home now."

"Sure," Tony starts, pulling out his phone to hand it over to Xavier.

"Thank you, but it's not necessary, friend," he replies with a smile, just a BAM and the smell of sulphur announced the arrival of Nightcrawler.

"Right, why make phone calls when you can use your genius telepathic brain?" Tony replies, putting his phone away. "Hey, Nighty."

"Hello, Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner, Mr-"

"Kurt, if you even think about calling me Mr. Barton like some gilly, we're gonna have a problem."(1)

"What's a-" Tony's question goes unanswered as Kurt leaves mid-laughter with the Professor is a cloud of smoke.

"I don't get it," Tony says. "And if I don't get it, it's obviously not important. I have work to do."

"I'm out of putty arrows, by the way." Clint had used the last of them against the stupid Russians.

"Why do you even need putty arrows in the first place?" Tony groans. "Never mind, two years and I still ask the same damn question every time. I'll do it sometime tonight, need these fixed for Shang-Chi first."

"Hey, I got the time. Give me the lab space, I'll do it myself," Clint offers. He hasn't made his own arrows since his mercenary days. But he needs to do something with his hands, he feels so restless.

"You sure?" Tony asks.

"He's watched you do it often enough," Bruce comments from his holotable.

"That's true. You need to stop stalking me, Legolas. It's creepy," Tony tells him. "My labs on this floor are yours for the day then. Don't let YOU clean, he keeps throwing away equipment. HA!" He holds up the weapon. "There!"

"Oh-kay."

Tony looks up at Clint. "Why are you still here? Go away. I need to work on Natasha’s guns before she murders me. You know where everything is, otherwise ask JARVIS."

"I would love to be of assistance to you, Master Barton."

"Gorgeous. Let's get to work, darling." Clint winks at the nearest camera.

"Oh no no no. No hanky panky, not with my A.I."

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Bruce adds gravely.

***

Around five in the afternoon, he finishes up with the arrows and heads to the range for some practice. He needs to be calm; only his bow and arrows and a clear target ever calm him down properly. Maybe he overdoes it though, because Steve and Natasha are both shooting him worried looks every once in a while from where they’re practicing their hand-to-hand. He decides to quit while he's ahead, cleaning and putting away his weapons before heading upstairs. He finds Tony and Bruce deep in discussion in the living room, nods to them and takes two plates of food to his apartment when he realizes that Phil isn't in the common rooms.

He hasn't seen Phil since he went out for a run six hours ago, but between packing a go-bag and getting some time for himself, Clint's not worried. He's got to be home by now, seeing as he needs to leave in an hour.

He opens his apartment door with his elbow. "I got chow from upstairs, you hungry?" he calls out as he walks in. Only to realize the lights are all turned off. Placing the plates on the dining room table, he pulls out his phone and dials Phil's number. It rings and rings.

"This is Coulson, leave a message."

Clint sighs and hangs up. Maybe he left already? Leaving the plates on the table, he heads back down to the common room. "Hey, have you guys seen Phil?" he asks Tony and Bruce. They look up and shake their heads simultaneously.

"JARVIS?" Tony asks.

"Agent Coulson has not returned since he left for his run six hours ago."

"Huh," Tony says. "Did he say whether he was going anywhere else?"

"No, he did not." JARVIS replies.

"Well, he's not a child, we don't need to keep track of him you know," Bruce interjects. "Maybe he went to the Hub or something."

He's probably right. Clint doesn't know why he's worrying so much. "But he would have had to come back for his ID and a car. He only had his phone and a gun on him." Clint remembers handing him the Glock himself. There was no way he would have made it to the Hub without at least his SHIELD ID, which he hadn't taken with him. Not to mention he hadn't taken his metrocard.

"You haven't heard from him in all this time?" Clint turns to find Steve leaning against the kitchen door, Natasha beside him. "I just got a call from Agent May asking where he was- they were supposed to meet for briefing 20 minutes ago. They need to be in the air soon."

"Let me call SHIELD," Clint pulls out his phone again.

"Don't bother, Fury just called asking for him." Natasha replies, waving the phone in her hand. Tony and Bruce stand up.

"Call his phone again." Tony tells him. Clint does. No answer.

"How far could he have gone?" Steve asks.

"Is there really need for worry?" Bruce asks again.

Clint turns to him. "Phil isn't one to just up and leave, he would have said something. Something's wrong. Something's happened."

"JARVIS? Can you use the LMD trackers to find him?" Tony asks.

"I'm calling Fury," Natasha says, before disappearing back into the kitchen with her phone. "He should know Coulson's missing."

"What do you mean Coulson's missing?" The Avengers turn around to find May, Skye and Ward by the door.

"What are you people doing here?"

"Picking up FitzSimmons because we got sick of waiting for Agent Coulson," Skye says. "And let's go back to the part where Coulson's missing!"

"Coulson left the Tower around eleven, he hasn't been home since then," Clint replies, his nails digging into his palms as his hands clench into fists.

"Excuse the interruption, sirs, but I cannot find the tracker signal," JARVIS says.

"Fuck." Clint leans against a holotable for support. Phil's gone. Phil, who was finally going to be whole and happy and his. _Why_ , he wants to scream.

"Then we do this the old-fashioned way," Steve says. "Tony, send an identicard alert to Spider-Woman. We don't have Logan right now, but she's just as good a tracker. I'm going to suit up, tell her to meet me up front. We're travelling by Sky-Cycle. Tony, see if you can follow security cameras or anything. "

"I'm coming with you." Clint makes a motion to follow Steve.

"No," he turns to Clint. "You’re too close to this, Clint. Trust me with this. You're more help here."

"Cap-"

"No, Hawkeye. Stay here. You're my eyes up high, not my ground support. This is where I need you."

"Yes, sir." Steve squeezes his shoulder, and heads off.

"Okay," Tony says, rolling up his long sleeves. "Bruce, you're with me. Back to the labs. We'll see if security camera footage can get us anywhere."

They're about to leave when Clint’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He nearly drops it because there's a voice message from Phil, dated half an hour after he left.

"Wait, wait, I got something from Phil," Clint says hoarsely before putting the phone on speaker mode.

_"Hey, Clint, I might be a bit late. I met John Garrett on the way; we're at a cafe now. I should be home around three. See you later."_

It's six pm now.

"Call Garrett, he might know something," Ward begins to pull out his phone. May grabs his arm. "What?"

"Could he be a suspect?" Bruce asks.

"No! He was my S.O.! He would never-"

"I don't care if he was your S.O., he's our only lead, and we're going to treat him as a suspect until proven otherwise," Tony snaps. "Now. JARVIS tell FitzSimmons to meet Bruce and me in our lab. The rest of you, either do something useful or get out of our way." They  make their way to the door when Natasha returns, face dark.

"We have a problem."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm amazed at how invested some of you readers are in the fic, it means so much to me.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai! This chapter is rather short, and we thought it would be mean to make you wait a week between this one and the next so lovely ereshai managed to beta this one early on!

Chapter 20

When Phil wakes up, he's strapped to an operating table. "It's awake again," someone says.

"Sedate it," someone else says. There's a pinprick and he begins fading again. Everything hurts. The last thing he sees before fading away is John Garrett.

"Before we pull your machinery apart, you should know something," he says. "I'm the Clairvoyant. Goodbye, Phil."

 ***

  _“This is wrong!” Dr. Streiten shouts, “Who ordered this?”_

_“Director Fury himself!”_

_It’s so cold and Phil can’t get out, he’s stuck. Nick and Maria are watching him and his head is split open, he wants to die. “Please, please let me die” he begs again and again._

His head explodes in pain again and then Phil is dreaming.

Phil is four and it’s bedtime and his dad is reading his first Captain America story for him. It’s magical and he loves it so much he asks if dad can read it again, and he does. Phil falls asleep before he’s done reading it.

_“This is wrong!”_

**_Phil, this is Charles. Can you hear me?_ **

He’s five and he’s on the playground swings. Mary Anne is running around and around him, her bright orange braids swinging around her. She’s the prettiest thing Phil has ever seen, except mommy.

Dr. Streiten shouts.

Phil’s 16 and crying under his bed covers. Chris had said he’d loved him, and Phil had let him go all the way. It had hurt but Chris had kissed him and said that was normal and Phil had let him. Chris was in college, he would know better. Then the next day, Chris tells him he’s changed his mind, that he’s not a fag like Phil. And the worst part is that Phil still loves Chris, he can’t help it.

_“Who ordered this?”_

**_Phil I need you to follow my voice._ **

Phil is twenty two and his parents are dead.He doesn’t have the money to finish college, so he joins the army. His bunkmate is an asshole named Marcus Johnson.

Phil is twenty seven and he’s at Quantico when Marcus finds him again, tells him his name is now Nick Fury and asks him to join SHIELD.

_“Director Fury himself!”_

**_Phil??_ **

Phil is thirty nine and he’s on the other side of an interrogation table. The blonde has a purple eye and a split lip. He grins and there’s blood between his teeth. Well, in Phil’s defense he was just trying to keep himself alive. The bullet to the shoulder was because he was a little irritated at lost time, but he's man enough to admit that to himself. “All right, I’ll join your men in black, long as I don’t have to wear a suit.”

“Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Barton.”

_It’s so cold and Phil can’t get out._

Phil is forty four and he’s going to die at the hands of idiotic men in beekeeper suits, Clint passed out ages ago and Phil can’t help but wish he’d had the chance to tell him the truth. The woman Clint had refused to shoot mere hours ago comes back despite all predictions. Phil thinks she’s on fire, and it’s only much later, when his vision finally clears up, that he realizes that that’s simply the fiery red of her hair.

_He wants to die._

**_No you don't. Live. Live for yourself, live for Clint._ **

Phil is forty eight and he wishes again that he’d told Clint but it’s too late now. Clint is gone and the phase two weapons may be their only chance against the demi-god who stole him away. Phil is forty eight when Loki plunges a sceptre through his heart and kills him.

_“Please, please let me die.”_

Phil is forty nine when he wakes up in an undisclosed location and Nick tells him they won. He doesn’t tell Phil what he’s lost.

_“Please, please let me die.”_

_Phil is fifty and the surgical light is bright when he opens his eyes and he remembers and he wants to die, and Phil agrees._

_“Please, please let me die.”_

**_Not yet._ **

**Phil is in a wheelchair and he can't feel his legs. They are in the room with the stasis chamber. Skye is beside him, hazel eyes bright with tears. She's not speaking but he still hears [can't alone need scared]. In front of him, the shell is shaking. The shell moves of its own accord, seizing while nurses and Bobbi [don't you dare do this to Clint, you bastard] try to turn him on his side. Hidden behind them is the most incredible man he's ever laid eyes on.**

**_That's right. It's Clint. Clint needs you to come home, Phil._ **

Phil is thirty eight years old and pissed at his best friend. He’s a strategist and combat specialist, but instead of being on a proper mission, he’s been put in charge of finding some kid who’s apparently good with a bow. That’s right. A bow. Phil almost checks the year on the calendar.

Three months, a shit ton of road food and a lonesome birthday later, he catches up. Well, not really. He finds an arrow in the left eye socket of a gang leader dealing in child pornography, which is better than the others ever did. He awards himself with Chicago style pizza and a bed for the night instead of the back of the car.

Phil wakes up with an arrow pointed dangerously close to his eye.

“Stop following me,” Hawkeye orders, pulling away only to grab the gun hidden under his mattress. “Thanks for the gun.” And he leaves.

Phil checks out as soon as he can, calls Nick and apologizes.

The next time he finds Clint, he gets an arrow in his shoulder, but only after putting a bullet into Barton’s own shoulder. Barton goes down laughing.

The next day, Clint Barton becomes an official asset of SHIELD. He also brings Phil a box of Chicago style pizza.

Phil might have a bit of a crush.

**_Come home, Phil._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edited:** I made the dumb mistake of the nurses trying to strap down someone having a seizure. Don't do that. You can cause them injury, just turn them on their side.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He's gonna blow! Get out of there, now!"_ Skye screams.
> 
> The body in the chamber stills. Charles Xavier opens his eyes wide. There is a sudden rush of emotion that floods Clint and he has to turn away from Phil to look at Charles Xavier; he finds him staring at Clint with an expression that he's never seen on the man's face before. The he closes them. Clint turns back to Phil, not understanding, and not caring because **Oh God Phil isn't moving.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai's superb beta work! This chapter was probably one of the most difficult ones for me to write, though it's not that long or anything...

"We have a problem"

"What's wrong, Tasha?" Clint asks.

"The WSC found out about Coulson. They don't want the LMD tech to get into the wrong hands," Tasha answers. "Apparently, there's a remote-controlled miniature explosive in his motherboard; they're planning to trigger it."

Clint goes cold all over. "WHAT? They can't do that. We don't know what will happen to him if the LMD is destroyed!"

"Fury's stalling, but he can't disobey the WSC, not after the invasion. We need a solution, and fast."

"So we don't need to stop them, just delay them until we get Coulson back in his body then," Skye pipes up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I need a laptop."

"I have laptops, I have all the laptops." Tony turns to her. "Kid, if you can get through the WSC's security, you can have them. Okay, I've got Steve and Jess in my ear; they found a trail. Clint, get everyone comm units. Skye, you're with the ScienceBros and our cousins from across the pond. Let's move it."

Clint hands out comm units to everyone, and the scientists and hackers head down to the labs. Only Natasha, Ward, and May stay behind. Clint begins pacing back and forth until Natasha and Mel both grab him and push him down onto a couch. "You're compromised again," Natasha tells him, straight up. He can't argue with her because it's true and no matter how much he tries, he can't get his head on straight. But Phil is missing.

"I need to do something; I can't just sit around while Phil is missing. Who knows what's going on..."

Skye's voice interrupts them on the comms. _"Hey peeps, can you hear me? See, now I really feel like a spy."_

"Do you need something, Skye?" Mel asks.

_"Yeah. Time. I want to sneak into their servers quietly. I can barge in pretty easily, but they'll know I'm in-"_

"You need a distraction on base," Natasha guesses.

_"Got it in one! Did I mention I'm a huge fan? Can you guys wreak some havoc at the Hub SciTech? They're opening up protocols to activate the self-destruct, so you've only got about an hour."_

"Leave that to me. Well, me and Manifold." Natasha pulls out her identicard to call Eden. "All right, he's on the roof. Shall we?" Natasha turns to Mel with a smirk.

"I'll take you up on that offer."

"Can I help?" Ward asks.

 _"Yes,"_ Steve comes in on the comms. _"You're operations, right? I need a protection detail up in Medical for the stasis chamber. I've got Mockingbird up there; she could use support. You and Hawkeye, head up."_

"Yes, sir."

Natasha leans forward and kisses Clint on the cheek before leaving with Melinda.

Ward and Clint arrive on the medical floor just as Jess reports over the comms _. "Spider-Woman here. We're at Giorgio's Cafe. I just found trackers, two of them. They're dead, no wonder we couldn't track them. One of them's unfamiliar, and the other's got a metallic smell to it, I'm guessing Coulson?"_

 _"Giorgio's? I've found CCTV feeds. Yes, they were there- oh bloody hell,"_ Fitz swears at the same time as Simmons gasps.

"What is it?" Clint demands as he walks into the room where the stasis chamber is set up.

 _"Agent Garrett knocked out Agent Coulson in the back alley before dragging him into an unlicensed black van,"_ Simmons explains.

"Oh God." Ward sags against the stasis chamber.

 _"Time?"_ Steve asks.

 _"Six hours, the trail must be cold by now,"_ Fitz groans.

 _"Spider-Woman?"_ Bruce asks.

_"I got something."_

_"We'll check in when we have news, I'm going silent on our end. Copy?"_

"Copy," they all repeat.

There's a moment of silence as Clint begins pacing back and forth in the room, until Steve voice breaks through the comm unit, loud and clear. _“Clint, it's just you and me. You with me?"_

"Yes, sir."

_"I know you're probably panicking by now. You have to think positively. It's going to be okay."_

"You don't know that." Clint says.

_"Yes. I do. We're the Avengers. We've fought alien invasions, time travelling villains and mad titans. I trust our team. Have I ever let you down?"_

He's Steve- kind and honest, stubborn but earnest and he'd never lie to his teammates, not to Clint. "No," he breathes out.

_"Okay. Good. We'll get Phil back. Just have faith in us."_

The thing about Steve Rogers is, he tells you something, you believe it. And Clint does; he lets out the breath he’d been holding and begins to have faith. The nuns at the orphanage used to quote bible verses to him, and he remembers one now. _Faith is the assurance that what we hope for will come about and the certainty that what we cannot see exists._ Clint was never all that religious, and since meeting Thor, even less. But when he was eight years old, he used to have hopes of new parents who loved him and Barney. He was certain that there was a family out there for them. He'd stopped believing that a while ago, until Phil and Natasha and his Avengers family here gave him hope again. So he can do it again, Clint thinks. He can have faith one more time. Assurance in Phil, and certain of his love for Clint, that it’s enough to bring him home to Clint.

"Okay, boss. I hear you.," he says as Bobbi strides into the room.

_"Good. Rogers out."_

Of course, that's when all hell breaks loose and Phil starts convulsing inside the stasis chamber.

Clint can only watch in horror as Bobbi rushes forward and sets off the alarm. Nurses pile into the room. Ward helps Bobbi open up the stasis chamber and roll Phil onto his side. Bobbi's screaming at him but he doesn't know what she's saying. So many people, and Phil, oh God. _Phil's going to die_ , Clint thinks, feeling absolutely useless.

No. He shakes the thought away. No he's not. He needs Clint's help. When he focuses on Bobbi, he finally hears her. "Call Xavier! Get him here now!"

Clint pulls out his phone and dials Kurt's personal cell number. "Kurt, I need the Professor back here, now, bring him straight to the stasis chamber."

There's a puff of smoke just moments later, and Xavier and Nightcrawler are in front of Clint.

"What in the name of-" the Professor turns to see Phil convulsing. _This will go much faster if you let me,_ he says, and Clint nods despite the fact that he’s trembling at the idea of someone else in his mind. Again.

A moment later, Clint feels no different, but Charles turns to Bobbi.

"He's in a lot of pain; I think his mind is separating from the LMD. I can sense his consciousness partially," Charles says before closing his eyes.

In his ear, Clint hears Steve saying that they've found a Centipede base.

 _I've found him._ Clint hears clearly in his head. He's looking at Phil, but there's not much to see; his vision is so embarrassingly blurry.

 _"I'm inside SHIELD, got the tracker,"_ Skye says into the comm. _"Thirty seconds. It was a single use code, I can't shut it down!"_

 _"What can we do?"_ Natasha demands. There are sounds of gunshots in his ear.

 _"Found him!"_ That's triumphant Jess. Oh no.

 _"He's gonna blow! Get out of there, now!"_ Skye screams.

The body in the chamber stills. Charles Xavier opens his eyes wide. There is a sudden rush of emotion that floods Clint and he has to turn away from Phil to look at Charles Xavier; he finds him staring at Clint with an expression that he's never seen on the man's face before. The he closes them. Clint turns back to Phil, not understanding, and not caring because **Oh God Phil isn't moving.**

Then Phil opens his eyes with a gasp and Clint's name on his tongue. Clint has followed every order he's ever received from Phil his entire life, and he's not going to stop now. Clint dashes forward and stops centimetres shy of Phil, then thinks, _fuck it_ , and kisses him right there. Phil tastes like formaldehyde, smells like dust after rain; his mouth is dry and his lips are cracked, but it’s perfect and right. Finally. Phil’s cold, frail hands come up to Clint’s chest and tugs on his shit. Clint goes. After a few seconds, Phil pulls away, gasping for breath, paler than before.

“Shit, Phil? Phil!” Clint cries, and is abruptly pushed away by Bobbi with an oxygen mask. She attaches the mask to Phil’s nose and lets him breathe in and out, rubbing his chest slowly.

“Give him a moment, Clint, he breathing for the first time in a very long time,” she tells him.

.

In his ears, orders are flying from all and sundry. Then there's only the Captain's voice, clear through the chaos, _"Hawkeye? I repeat. What's your status?"_

"It's all right," Clint whispers into the comm as the nurses wheel in a hospital bed. "I've got him."

“He’s all right, Mr. Barton; he has all his memories. Why don’t we get out of their way for a moment? You don’t need to leave the room,” Xavier suggests, and Clint obeys, moving to a corner of the room. It doesn’t matter, because Phil is alive and he’s moving and he’s going to be okay. He’ll do anything as long as Phil is okay. Xavier wheels out as soon as he has space at the door. The nurses transfer Phil to the more comfortable bed, and pull the bedcovers up to his chin. Clint follows as they wheel the bed out and into another room, and Bobbi begins to attach various cables to his body, for blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and other things Clint doesn’t recognise. He waits quietly in the corner, wincing as the nurse lays an IV line and hangs up four different infusions. Bobbi raises the head of the bed until Phil is partially sitting up.

Bobbi turns to Clint. “You can talk to him for a few minutes, but he needs to rest after. I' tell you to go get some rest, but I doubt you're going to listen to me," she's smiling. "You can stay, just let him rest. And don’t let him try and get up, call a nurse if he needs anything. Hand me the comm.”

That's when Clint realizes the cacophony of noises coming from the comm in his ear hasn't let up. The explosion, he remembers. Steve. Jess and Eden. "They're all right, Clint. Eden got them out, and Kurt picked up Nat and May. They're being treated for minor injuries and then heading down to the situation room for a debrief. I'm heading down myself. Have some peace and quiet and give me that damn comm already."

He acquiesces and hands it over. Ward, who's been in the background until now, follows Bobbi out of the room.

A nurse walks in, bringing another blanket, and a glass of ice chips. She hands the blanket over to Clint; it’s warm. “I just took it out of the heating unit,” she explains before setting the glass and spoon on the nearby table and leaving again.

Clint moves fast, carefully pulling back the duvet to unfold the warm blanket over Phil, then pulling it back up and tucking under Phil’s neck. He drags one of the chairs over to the bed and grabs the glass, spooning ice chips into Phil’s mouth for the next few minutes. “That’s enough, thank you,” Phil croaks, throat dry and raw from disuse. He fumbles his hands under the duvet, trying to lift them, but failing for lack of energy. Clint sneaks his hand under the covers and wraps it around his wrist. Phil taps slowly, _Made a promise, didn't I?_

Clint can’t help but laugh and laugh until there are tears falling unashamed down his face. “Yes, yes."

“I love you,” Phil whispers. Clint lowers the head of the bed and asks JARVIS to turns the lights off and shut the blinds. He rests his head near their knotted hands and closes his eyes, and thinks of faith. Natasha was right, Steve was right.

They're the Avengers, they always pull through. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. We're coming up on the home stretch now, but there's still a few longer ones before the happy ending:) Thanks for reading!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path to recovery isn't easy. Despite embarrassing moments, Phil finds that it still goes much better with Clint by his side than without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai as always, I couldn't have asked for a better beta.  
>  **This chapter is most certainly NSFW. Mind the new tags.**

There is a huge misconception that illness is romantic. Take it from a man who’s died and come back to life, only to have to do it all over again; it’s not. Being ill is degrading and mortifying. It’s blood and sweat and pain. It’s not being able to take a piss on his own; it is the constant need to call someone to do even the most banal of things. It’s having bed sores on his ankles and his lower back that aren't healing fast enough because he doesn't have the strength to do anything but lie in bed all day. Phil has spent the last two weeks feeling more like a patient number that a human being, and he’s more than ready to leave. Unfortunately, dehydration and loss of muscle mass have limited him to taking no more than a few steps in his room, and pain has cut down the amount of time he can comfortably sit up on the recliner or wheelchair. The nurses are overly helpful, because other than emergencies within the Avengers Tower and patching up the Avengers themselves after a battle, they usually have nothing to do. It is slowly starting to get on his nerves.

There has been no shortage of visitors. Tony likes to drop in once a day with whatever new invention he’s working on. Bruce spends a few hours a day reading in his room, and Natasha comes by to keep him company every day at lunchtime. His team are off on a mission again, Fury having put Melinda officially in charge. Jasper likes to come in and bitch after dealing with the Avengers. Xavier doesn’t visit, but he checks in via telepathy once a day. Even Jessica Drew had dropped in once. That had been an interesting conversation, to say the least. Her efforts to warn him about relationships with Clint had been nipped in the bud when he had informed her that he knows exactly what he’s getting into, having known Clint for nearly a decade longer than she had. She’d nodded and walked off.

There are good days, and there are bad days. Nick has come to visit him twice, once with a complete collection of the cards that he’d ruined in the first place. Two of them are clear fakes, and when Phil points it out, Nick stands up and leaves without a word. That’s one of the better days. Maria came in once to tell him that John Garrett was secure and the Centipede organisation brought to its knees by Mel and the team. That was an even better day. Clint is sitting in the armchair near the window reading the _Philosopher’s Stone_ when Nick shows up the two days later with two more cards and a mission plan to be looked over. It ends with Nick leaving the building pulling a putty arrow from his leather coat and looking so murderous that Jasper had elected to leave the elevator early when he’d seen him. At least, that’s what JARVIS says.

Yesterday had been a bad day. He had been awake for two weeks, and merely walking with the physiotherapist to the bathroom and back had him collapsing on the bed and sleeping for two hours. After a dismal lunch of soup and weak tea, he’d spent another half hour with the physiotherapist with fractional improvement. Then Clint had come in the afternoon, having spent the morning fighting Doombots. Phil had been asleep, and he’d woken up to Clint opening the door, only to realize he’d wet the bed.  

Saying he’d reacted badly was an understatement, to say the least. He’d shouted (well, rasped as loud as he could) at Clint to get out. Clint had left without uttering a single word, his face carefully blank. An orderly had helped Phil up to change the bed sheets and wash up. He’d spent the rest of the day sullen, not even cheered up by Steve, who’d visited him to sign his cards. Some days, he wonders why he wanted to be human so badly.

Today, he’s alone in his room, listening in on the comm unit that Natasha had sneaked in for him a couple days ago. The Avengers are currently fighting against a time-travelling villain in a battle suit who calls himself Kang the Conqueror, of all things. He’s not completely sure what’s happening, partly because he has no video feed, but also because he’s exhausted.

It’s just after lunch, which had been a disaster. They’d decided to switch from just soups and juices to whole fruit and yoghurt for lunch, only to have Phil vomit it all up seconds after his first bite of banana.

Phil is sick of liquids. He’s sick of the I.V. that’s giving him parenteral nutrition and he’s sick of lying in bed and watching his body rot away and not see anything but the smallest of improvements. Phil is sick of trying so hard for so little progress. He wants to go home and he wants to work. He wants to be able to talk for more than half an hour before his voice fails him. He wants a mission, he wants to take a shower while standing, he wants to wear something that actually closes at the back. He wants to take Clint home and take him apart, but Phil is a distorted mess.

Today, he listens to Clint shout expletives into the comm and wonders if he’ll ever be strong enough to be out there with him. Not that Phil was ever extraordinary enough to be an Avenger. He wonders when he'll be useful again as he falls asleep to the sound of multiple shouts of victory.

***

Phil wakes up to find Clint sleeping in the armchair. Still clad in a dusty tactical suit, he's curled up in on himself. It’s dark. Phil must have slept through the afternoon. Again. He feels old and hideous. Clint looks beautiful despite the jagged burn scars on his arm and the new scrape on his forehead. His hair is getting a little too long and Phil knows he’s going to buzz it all off soon, so he tries to enjoy it as long as he can. Phil is hit with the sudden need to run his hands through it. There’s a knock on the door and Clint jolts awake, then relaxes once he sees the orderly bringing in dinner.

Once the orderly leaves, he turns to Phil, neck popping audibly. “Hi, you,” he says tentatively.

“You cannot possibly be comfortable like that,” Phil comments. Clint moves and settles himself beside Phil on the bed. Phil hopes he doesn’t smell, he hasn’t had anything but sponge baths since… possibly 2012.  

“It’s okay. You hungry?” he asks, looking at the yoghurt and cantaloupe slices. So they’re going to ignore his outburst from yesterday.

Phil grimaces at the fruit, not in the mood to have a repeat of lunch. “Not really, you’re more than welcome to it.”

Clint’s face clouds over, “Phil….” He reaches to place a hand over Phil’s, but as usual, Phil pulls away.

“No,” Phil repeats, cross his thin hands across his chest. “I'm not hungry.”

Clint sighs and opens up the yoghurt, spooning a bit into his own mouth. He swallows and looks pointedly at Phil, “It’s strawberry. You like strawberries.” He scoops a little bit and brings the spoon towards Phil, who brings his hand up in defence.

“Clint, please. I’m not hungry,”

“You’re not going to throw up again; you actually like strawberries and cantaloupe.” Oh, Phil is not happy with the nurses right now, not if they’re letting Clint know every little thing that happens to Phil in bed all day. Clint eats the spoonful of yoghurt again. He puts the container down and leans forward, intentions clear as day. Phil puts his hand up again.

“Stop.”

Clint recoils, “First we can’t because you think I’m just feeling guilty. Then it’s because you’re an LMD. Do you even want me?”

"What? Of course I do!"

"I'm really having a hard time accepting that," Clint says, turning away.

He doesn’t know how to say this without stupid and vain. “I…” Phil swallows, eyes blinking slowly. “You know, I haven’t had a bath since 2012.”

Clint blinks once, then again, understanding dawning. “And yet,” he says, shy smile gracing powder pink lips. There’s a five o’clock shadow forming; Phil would bet his signed Captain America cards that it would feel sinfully delicious against his skin. “And yet, I can’t help being helplessly attracted to you, you sexy thing.”

“What… no, you can’t possibly-” He can’t finish his sentence because Clint’s mouth closes over his, hands coming up to gently run down his forearms. And Phil’s right, there's no comparison to this feeling. Clint pulls away carefully, “Phillip Jonathan Coulson, I am in love with you; that means through sickness and in health.” Phil is so damn thankful his monitors have been removed because it would be embarrassing to read on a screen how quickly his heart jumps at that statement. “I don’t care if you’re throwing up, or worse. I don’t care. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But otherwise, you’re not getting rid of me, come hell or high water.” He kisses Phil again. “Well, unless we assemble, sorry.”

Phil laughs at that, voice fading again.

“Now, how about dinner?” Clint asks. Phil laughs silently, shoulders shaking, and nods.

He manages to eat all of the yoghurt and then a slice of cantaloupe before he feels nauseous. “Okay, no more then.” Clint runs to get a wet cloth and places it on his forehead. The nurse comes in then and hangs a new infusion bag, then leaves to bring him Motilium. It helps, and soon Phil feels himself fading. He opens his eyes when Clint ghosts his fingers over his bare shoulder, where the hospital gown is sliding off. Clint is staring at him, dazed.

“What?” Phil asks.

“Nothing,” Clint says. “You rest.”

“You, too.” It’s been an ordeal and more to get Clint to leave each night, and usually only Natasha can successfully order him to bed. They’d offered to bring in a second bed, but Phil doesn’t want to handle any teasing from Tony, no matter how good natured it’s meant to be. He hopes this isn’t one of those stubborn days, because Natasha is in Tashkent and Phil doesn’t have the heart to send Clint away, even if it’s for his own good.

Phil can be rather selfish sometimes.

Fortunately for Phil, Clint’s Avengers I.D. card goes off at that exact moment, and Clint scrambles for it, cursing. He kisses Phil again and Phil grabs him by the wrist as he turns away. “I love you too, you know.”

Clint gives him a thousand-watt smile and kisses him on the forehead before heading towards the door. “Be careful,” Phil adds.

“Oh, I was born careful,” he says, and then grimaces. “Urgh.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. Remind me to never introduce you to Kate Bishop,” Clint says before he disappears behind the closing door.

The orderly comes in help Phil walk to the bathroom. He’s nauseated again and slightly dizzy but he makes it back to bed without vomiting, which shouldn’t make him as proud as it does. By then it’s eight in the evening and he’s nowhere near exhausted. The comm unit is silent, which is worrying, until Bruce comes to visit him and tells him they’re on radio silence, and that it’s just Jessica, Clint and Natasha who are gone.

Bruce is quiet, and Phil likes the man, though he doesn’t know him well. Bruce settles on the armchair and begins reading the book he’s brought along, _Life Without Limits_.

“You don’t have to keep me company, you know.”

Bruce looks up, eyebrows raised, “I don’t actually mind. Though, if you feel safer-“

“No, it’s not about the Hulk,” Phil interrupts. “I don’t want to waste your time, and it’s getting late.”

“Oh. No, um. I’m not going to be able to sleep with the others out on a mission, and I can’t concentrate enough in the lab to be sure something won’t explode.” He seems genuine, smiling at Phil sheepishly while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“In that case, it’s a pleasure to have you here, thank you.”

Bruce smiles again and goes back to reading.

Phil picks up his own tablet and half-heartedly tackles some paperwork. A large portion of it has been delegated to Jasper and Hand, who are obviously not happy about the situation. Frankly, Phil doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

Bruce suddenly puts his book down on the table in front of him and turns back to Phil. “Sorry, I don’t want to make gross assumptions here.” He pushes his glasses back up again. Phil thinks that maybe the scientist is in dire need of glasses that sit on his nose. “Clint’s a dear friend. I know you’ve known him a lot longer than we Avengers have, longer than Nat even. But you weren’t the one who had to bandage his fingers after he hurt himself when he learned that you were alive.”

Phil reverts to his blandest expression, forcing the guilt down. He doesn’t speak, waiting for Bruce to complete his train of thought.

"I don’t claim to know you well, but you seem like a good man. But I think you underestimate how much people care for you, otherwise you would not have left Clint and Natasha the way you did.” Phil doesn’t argue, because the man is right after all.

“He likes to pretend otherwise, but Clint has a huge heart," Bruce continues, looking out the window. "After the battle, the first one, when I was... me again, he offered me his hand and introduced himself. There was no fear, no disgust. He just went along with it. He offered me a place to stay in Bed Stuy before Tony jumped in to offer the Tower for everyone.”

That’s the Clint Phil knows and loves so dearly. That’s the same Clint who brought him dinner when Phil had been stuck in meetings all day, or took a bullet for him in Lahore. No matter that they'd barely known each back then. Clint loves too deep and never wavers even after the countless times his love has been used against him.

“No one’s saying anything. But we’re not blind, Agent Coulson.”

“We’re not trying to hide anything. And I think you’re forgetting Tony here.”

Bruce lets out a laugh, “Well, no one could ever accuse Tony Stark of staying quiet, I think.” He turns serious. “It isn’t our business, whatever is between you and Clint. But just remember that we are fiercely protective of our own. And Clint is family. I think we can all agree that making me angry won’t end well,” Bruce notes pleasantly.

It's not a threat he was expecting, especially since Bruce is looking at him with a smile. “On the other hand, I haven’t seen him this happy, ever. So I’m glad.”

“I would not hurt him willingly.”

“I know.” Bruce pushes his glasses up again and gets back to reading.

***

Phil is alone when he wakes up the next morning, but by the time he’s seated at the bedside for breakfast, Clint and Natasha walk in, sporting rather nasty cuts on their hands and faces.

“We’re fine,” Natasha says before Phil can even comment, and takes a bite out of her cream cheese bagel. Clint tries to grab it and she puts it out of reach. “I told you get to breakfast, didn’t I?”

“But Natasha!” Phil has to hide a smile at that.

“Shut up, this is your own fault.” Natasha settles on the armchair. Clint pouts and Phil wants to kiss him desperately. Instead he offers him the sliced apples on his tray.

“Not happening, Phil,” Clint replies, coming to sit beside him on the bed. He moves the infusion stand out of the way and leans in to brush his lips against Phil’s forehead. Good thing too, because he wasn’t getting one on the lips considering Phil hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet. No matter how much Phil wants one. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” They haven’t had a talk about what’s acceptable in front of others. Actually, they haven’t had a talk period; everything is still so new. On the other hand, Phil doesn’t want to hide, and besides, this is Natasha. She’s family, so Phil can’t possibly mind.

“Urgh. You two are going to give me cavities.”

“I don’t think SHIELD covers dental,” Phil says. Natasha glares and Clint laughs. “What was the mission last night? The comms were down.”

“It was covert, we used a different line,” Natasha explains, mouthful of cream cheese.

“Don't you usually hand those off to SHIELD?” Phil asks.

“Yeah, well. Steve is not so happy with SHIELD right now, so he decided we would deal with it, me and Nat and Jess. You know, spy work.” Phil doesn’t know how to react to that, but he understands. Especially now, when Phil doesn’t know if he himself wants to go back to SHIELD.

“And it went well?”

“Mostly. Steve’s a great strategist, but not so good at controlling operations from afar, you know?” Clint says. Phil tries to imagine Captain America undercover, and fails spectacularly. The three exchange glance and burst into laughter.

“Oh God, he’d probably go undercover in his tac suit, just throw a coat over it, or something.” Clint laughs.

“Probably? I have actually seen him do that,” Natasha gasps out between giggles.

“Oh, God.”

“He can’t help it, it’s just not who he is,” Phil tries to defend his childhood hero.

“That’s for sure,” Clint grins.

***

Phil’s wrist is black and blue where the IV catheter had been. It had just been removed a few minutes ago, thank God. Four weeks with an I.V.is harder than it sounds. He’s eating half meals ( _but it’s at least solid food, yay!),_ so the nurses think it’s no longer needed. This means he can finally take a shower. Clint is beside him, smiling that million dollar smile, a plastic Target bag in hand. Once the nurse leaves, he pulls out the contents and Phil can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Hawkeye pyjamas, purple flannel ones with little arrows and bows. It’s adorable.

“I think I would rather have a hospital gown.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Phil Coulson- now let’s get you naked and in the shower,” Clint says, reaching towards him. And the self-consciousness comes rushing back like high tide. It’s not that Clint hasn’t seen him naked, but that was before. Now he has not-yet-healed bedsores in the small of his back and his ankles, countable ribs and- okay, Phil understands that Clint loves him for more than his body, because Phil was never as physically attractive as Clint no matter what Clint says, but he can’t help being overly self-conscious.

Clint must read some of that in him, because the next thing he says is, “Would you rather go with a nurse instead?” And no. No, he wouldn’t.

“That’s okay. Um- it’s not pretty.”

“Oh God- how dare you not be pretty while being ill in Medical?" Clint says with a raised eyebrow and okay, maybe he has a point. Phil stands up, and they walk to the bathroom together. He makes it to the shower on his own before holding onto the handrails for support. Clint helps him take off the gown, and then just _stares_.

“Well, this isn’t awkward,” Phil tries to make light but Clint’s in another world. Clint brings his hands up and runs them down his ribs gently.

“I am going to take you home and make so much food.”

“Still two more days to go, Clint,” Phil reminds him and Clint looks up to his face.

“I know.” He pulls away and hangs the towel within Phil’s reach. “I’m just outside, call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

He manages to take a shower and put on his pyjamas by himself, finally feeling clean, before opening the door. He finds Clint leaning against the wall. He looks up at Phil and smiles.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Clint asks. It’s something they've been doing the last week, walking around the empty ward or onto the balcony when it’s warm enough. The nurses encourage it, as lying in bed isn’t helping Phil at all.

“Sure.”

They find Tony on the way and end up having lunch on the balcony with him and Steve. It’s nice.

***

Nick visits again, but this time Phil’s a couple floors higher, resting on Clint’s couch while Clint makes tortellini. “You were right,” he says, plopping himself down on a single seater.

“About?”

“Your team, dumbass. They’re good, and they’re doing well under May. Good thing, too, because I need my good eye back with me.” Phil hides a smug smile of satisfaction, because seriously. He'd known that from the beginning.

“I don’t know if that’s going to happen, Marcus.”

“Cheese-“

“I don’t know how keen I am to continue working for the organization that went against my wishes and kept crucial information about myself hidden from me.”

“Touché.” Nick props his feet up on the coffee table.

Clint walks in from the kitchen with two plates. “Oh, _hell_ no. I am not having you over for dinner. Go away.”

Nick rolls his eyes and stands back up. “Let me know soon.”

“Good bye, Nick.” After Nick leaves, Clint settles in beside him, handing over the plate. It’s full. “I can’t eat all this.”

“I know, just eat what you can, I’ll eat the rest. What did Fury want?”

“Me to return to work,” Phil answers.

“Are you going to?” Clint asks, left eye twitching so very slightly.

Phil takes a bite before turning to look at Clint. “SHIELD has been my life for so long, Clint. And I don’t know where else I would go.”

“CIA, FBI, NSA, Interpol- you name it Phil, they want you. You’d find a job,” Clint assures him, looking down at his plate.

"It’d be really boring after all this, don’t you think?” Phil asks.

Clint looks up. “Boring might be good for you, don’t you think?” he shoots back with a grin.

“If it were up to you, I believe I might never leave this building,” Phil accuses him lightly.

“If it were up to me, you’d never leave our bed-“ He blushes. “I mean, my bed- umm. I forgot water.” He escapes back to the kitchen. Clint takes longer than he needs to and Phil takes the moment to transfer some of his tortellini to Clint's plate. So it's underhanded. He's a spy.

Clint returns with two glasses of water, setting them on the coffee table beside his plate. Phil places his own plate on the table and turns to Clint, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him with all he’s got. Clint tastes like cheese and basil and his gasp is the most phenomenal sound Phil has ever heard.

They break away, breathless, eyes focusing on each other. “I’d like to stay permanently, if you don’t mind.”

“God yes- I mean- yeah. That’s cool.” Clint drops his head into his hands and Phil chuckles, pulling him closer to his chest.

And then, just to feel Clint tremble as he still does, Phil adds, “I love you.” He wonders when this won’t be a surprise to Clint anymore, but lets that thought fly away so he can kiss Clint again.

***

Three days later, Phil wakes up in the middle of the night to find Clint thrusting his hard cock against him in his sleep. They haven’t had sex yet, mainly because Phil’s so tired it’s the last thing on his mind, but also because the nurse only gave him permission two days ago. But now he can feel every inch of Clint’s hard cock against his hip, separated only by a thin piece of fabric, and his blood surges with want. He places a hand on Clint’s bare shoulder and kisses the sleeping archer, who comes awake and pulls away with a gasp. “Sorry! Damn it. Sorry.”

Phil doesn’t need light to know Clint’s blushing in embarrassment. Phil’s better with words, so he knows he has to be the first to say something. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he tells Clint while crawling closer to him. He straddles him, pressing his own hardness against Clint’s.

“You’re not-“

“The nurse said it’s fine,” Phil says with a thrust of his hips, eliciting a moan from Clint’s mouth. Phil wonders what a sight Clint must be, the expression on his face when the magnificent noise leaves his tongue. It’s dark and Phil yearns to see him, to fix his eyes on those gorgeous pink lips and eyes that glimmer and vary in colour like the northern lights. He leans forward, still straddling Clint, to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

And there he is.

Clint is clad only in boxers and a crimson flush that's racing down his chest. The scars on his body are ever so familiar to Phil. The bullet graze on his shoulder from Budapest, the cigarette burns from his father. And, of course, the angry scars from the dragon.

“Phil, I-“ Any protest Clint may have had is swallowed by Phil’s mouth as he leans forward to kiss Clint. Clint is sleep-warm, and his blond hair is a silky sin under Phil’s palms. Phil pulls away to trail wet kisses down Clint’s jaw, stubble wicked against his own chin. He presses his tongue against Clint pulse and breathes, thankful for its presence. Thankful this wasn’t stolen from him before they ever had the chance to do this.

“Phil, Phil, Phil,” Clint breathes out again and again, his hands clambering over his ribs in an effort to remove his shirt. “Wanna see you, baby I want to see you-" Phil pulls away and takes his undershirt off in one swift movement, and Clint inhales sharply, bring up a hand to press against his scar, frozen in wonder.

“I’m here. I’m yours,” Phil assures him, and Clint surges up to meet him, lips burning against his own, tongue fighting to possess Phil’s mouth and reciprocate Phil's declaration without words. They land backwards on the bed and Phil lets out a pained yelp.

“Shit, sorry- sorry-“ Clint moves away and pulls him up to check the sore on his back. It’s almost healed, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“It’s fine, Clint.” Phil crowds himself into Clint’s arms. He feels like Steve before the serum, but he doesn’t care because Clint is looking at him the way he looks at his bow. Phil’s going to shatter like glass if he doesn’t get inside Clint _now_ , so he kisses him, hands wrapping around Clint’s head to hold him in place. They shimmy out of their pyjamas. It’s not attractive and Clint practically giggles when Phil nearly falls off the bed, the traitor- but they’re finally naked. Then they’re kneeling on the bed and pressed against each other and Clint’s sure hand against Phil’s shoulder is the safest Phil has felt since coming back to life.

Clint pushes him, this time gently, until he’s lying on his back, a pillow under his back. They kiss and Clint’s weight against him is bordering on the edge of uncomfortable, but that's exactly why Phil loves it. This isn't delusion or fantasy; this is reality. This is the present and the now. Phil runs a hand down between them to wrap his hand around both of them, thumb coming to rest on Clint’s slit. Clint’s shaken gasp is glorious and he fumbles for Phil’s other hand, entwining their fingers together. “Perfect,” Phil mumbles, cocks thrusting in his hand. This is perfect. This is them, this is home. Their bed. This is the now and the future. This is the rest of their lives, melding together.

Clint’s nowhere near done. He peppers kisses down Phil’s neck, stopping to latch onto a nipple. Phil can’t stop the utterly embarrassing moan that escapes him this time, back arching to meet Clint’s mouth. Clint lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, but then Phil has to let go as Clint pulls away and migrates lower on the bed, one hand still holding Phil’s. He brings his head down to rest at his grossly protruding hip, and there’s a sudden wetness there. Clint is shaking and Phil can’t bear it; he pulls him back up and wiping away the tears.

“I could have lost you,” Clint chokes out, hand pressing against Phil’s chest, his ribs, his jutting hips.

“I’m not lost. I'm right here and I'm yours.” Phil brushes his lips against his forehead and holds him tight for a moment. Clint gasps into his neck, sobs wracking his entire body, biting into Phil’s neck just a little too hard, but if that’s what Clint needs, that’s what Phil will give him.

“Inside me, please,” Clint begs.

“Okay, okay, yes,” Phil says, because who is Phil to deny this man anything? And Clint lurches towards the night table and pulls out lube and a condom. His hands shake as he tries to squeeze out lube from the tube, and it spills everywhere- the bed, his knees. Phil gently takes the tube from Clint. “How about you let me do it?”

Clint nods silently. “On your back, I think.” Phil whispers, hand cupping Clint’s neck, thumb pressing against a miniscule cut on his cheek. Clint gasps and obeys, legs spread wide in invitation. Phil commits this image to his memory. This is his. This will always be his.

“Yours,” Clint says breathlessly, and Phil is floored.

Only Clint.

Only Clint could read his face like this. He takes another moment to just observe. Clint is resting on his elbows, pillows propped up behind his head, chest flushing red, rapidly rising and falling with his laboured breathing. Phil squeezes some lube onto his hand and rubs his palms together to warm it up before palming Clint’s cock. It twitches in his hand and Phil fights his own body for control, becoming blindingly hard at the sight.

Beads of precome leak from Clint’s cock, and Phil's mouth waters. Phil runs his thumb over the slit again, nail catching the liquid before bringing it to his mouth, eyes locked with Clint’s. Clint slams his head back with a scream, nearly turning sideways. Phil pushes him back gently. “Stay with me, Clint. Come on, I’ve got you.”

“You got me,” he repeats numbly, head turning slowly from side to side.

“I got you,” he repeats, and resists the temptation to wrap his mouth around Clint's cock. It's too much and not the right time. Instead, he presses a slicked up finger inside Clint and oh God- it’s _tight_. Clint cries out, pushing against the finger, but it’s as deep as it can go. Phil freezes. He takes his free hand away from Clint to grab his own cock and squeeze. He’s going to fall apart any second now, and he promised Clint he’d be inside of him. The urge fades and Phil's ears pick up the fact that Clint's speaking.

“Faster, please, please Phil,” Clint begs, “Now, in me now, please. No more fingers, I need you please pleaseplease-“

And as badly as Phil wants to sink into the welcoming heat, Clint is nowhere near ready, so he places a hand on Clint’s belly, rubbing in circles in the hope it would calm him down somewhat. “I’m not going anywhere, Clint.” He works on Clint, adding another finger, then another. Clint’s sobbing by the end of it, but he’s not the only one with wet cheeks.

“Please. In me, please now please pleaseplease!” Clint pleads, and Phil is _gone_. He grabs the condom and Clint pulls it out of his grasp. “No nononono- we’re clean, come on, just you, just you inside of me please!”

And there’s no more thinking, there’s only the painfully fast few seconds in which Phil’s fingers are placed by his cock. Clint wraps his legs and arms around Phil and pulls him in fast, way too fast, Phil doesn’t get to savour the view before he’s hip to hip with Clint.

"You okay?”he rasps out, voice raw and body trembling as he battles the urgent need to come. Clint, though, Clint probably hasn’t heard him, still as a statue, eyes closed, and head rolling up. When he finally breathes out, Clint opens his eyes and comes untouched, come splattering between their aligned chests.

And Phil loses his resolve, all the ingrained self-discipline from years of training thrown out the damn window because of this man. “I’m sorry,” Clint whispers against his neck, “you go ahead.” And Phil does. He pulls out and slams back in with a desperation he's never felt before, again and again and again until the movement becomes another part of him, easier than breathing.

Then Clint wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer with a broken, "I love you," and Phil blows apart. His pleasure peaks like a punch to the gut; he spills himself inside Clint.

They stay like that for a long moment, neither wanting to move first, both lost as waves of ecstasy crash over Phil. Phil’s cock slowly softens and slips out. Their breaths are in tandem, chests rising and falling in response to each other.

The world is still. Clint kisses his neck and babbles; Phil doesn’t know what he’s saying but it’s okay. It’s all okay. They’re together and alive. Nothing else matters.

The position starts to become painful for Phil so he reluctantly pulls away. Clint grabs his wrist Phil lean in to kiss him. “It’s okay, I’ll be right back. I’m just a bit uncomfortable.”

He gets a wet cloth and cleans up before coming back to help Clint, momentarily frozen in marvel when he finds Clint with a hand between his legs before bringing it up to his mouth. Clint blushes at seeing Phil and turns his face away. "Um. Now would be a good time for the ground to swallow me up."

"I think we'd have to be in the Baxter Building for something like that to happen." Phil notes. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I've never gone bare before...I just... wanted to know what you tasted like."

_Oh._

He staggers forward and cups Clint’s jaw, turning his head to catch him in a gentle kiss, hoping to convey the emotions that he doesn't have words for. He’s never going to not want this man; he's never going to stop loving Clint. Phil gently turns him around and presses the warm wet cloth down over Clint’s ass to soak up the leaking come. Clint sighs in contentment and holds out his arms. Phil throws the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom before accepting his embrace. They curl against each other on their sides lying chest to chest, fingers and legs entwined and trade lazy kisses until Phil can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! Okay. So when I wrote this, it was the first time I was writing smut after the short Natasha/Clint scene from earlier. I hadn't written "Allometry" or "stop the world, i wanna get off with you" yet. I was in tears by the end of it and I remember sending it to Max72 going, "I give up, I am terrible writer." But writing comes with practice, and also- second and third drafts. So... I hope you enjoyed this.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint opens his big mouth, and Phil decides they really need to have a _talk_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai who had this for me by Wednesday.

Clint wakes up to a pleasant soreness in his ass and the love of his life drooling onto his chest. He can’t help but laugh at Phil, who jerks awake, and wipes his mouth, embarrassed. Then Clint remembers last night and surges forwards to kiss Phil, pushing him down on the bed.

“Good morning,” Phil says.

“Good morning.” Clint nuzzles into Phil’s neck. Phil’s hands come up to wrap around Clint's shoulders, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his body. Phil’s freezing cold, as he always is these days. And too thin.

“Sorry, I know I’m cold,” Phil says, pulling away, but Clint wraps himself around him even tighter.

“Don’t care.” And then he remembers last night. “Sorry I didn’t... um.” Fuck this is so embarrassing. Clint Barton never expected to not last in bed, like ever.

“It’s okay, we have time.” Phil responds. They’re pressed together, their sexes nestled against each other. They _do_ have time, Clint thinks, satisfied and oddly relieved.

***

They find themselves on the balcony, enjoying spring fresh air and a full breakfast, thanks to Clint. Or at least, Clint is enjoying his breakfast. Phil picks at his food a lot these days, and Clint knows it’s not because he doesn’t like it, but because he’s just not hungry. Clint thinks he’s good at hiding his frustration but he sees Phil look at him with guilt every once in a while. Phil’s gorgeous and Clint’s turned on all the fucking time, but instead of muscle and fat, there’s bone and more bone. If his chin was defined before, it’s over exaggerated now. It’s a lot better than when he first woke up a month ago, but that isn’t making Clint feel better.

They go for a walk and lunch in the city before heading to Bed Stuy. They find Kate shooting at track suit mobsters again, and by the time Clint makes it to the fight, they’re all moaning on the ground like the little bitches they are. Fuck, he loves Kate. He reminds himself to talk to Steve about the bros.

Now Phil is in the apartment with Kate and Lucky, who’s abandoned both Hawkeyes to wrap himself around Phil on the couch. Clint’s jealous, but it’s a great way to keep Phil warm. Also, he’s not sure who he’s jealous of.

Kate follows him into the kitchen and sits at the counter while he makes coffee. “Soo...” she starts.

“Urgh, please don’t start.”

“Is this the same Phil Coulson who you get drunk over every May since I’ve known you? I thought he’d died or something.”

And fuck he wants to shake Katie sometimes. "Well, he's alive now."

“You didn’t know?”

“I do now.”

“SHIELD?”

“SHIELD.”

“I fucking hate those assholes,” she comments while filing her nails.

“Why do you have to do that in my kitchen?” Clint demands. “That’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” She stands up. “I’m going to see if this Phil guy is worthy of a Hawkeye.”

“No, no, you’re not. I didn’t do that with Eli or Tommy or Noh-Varr, and that was hard as hell because I worked with that kid, but seriously, you do not do that with my boyfriend.” He freezes. That might be the first time he’s said that. Boyfriend. That sounds right and wrong at the same time. Phil is his. By the time he snaps out of it, she’s already gone. _Worthy_ , she'd said. What a weirdo.

He sighs and finishes making coffee before bringing it over for himself and Kate. Phil gets tea because coffee isn't so good for his heart. They don’t look angry at each other so Clint thinks that’s a good thing, until he starts listening to the conversation.

“I know, right? It’s like, Clint, are you from the Middle Ages or what? An actual message box.”

“Clint’s always had an aversion to technology; it’s an inherent part of what makes him Clint.”

“I heard Tony had to threaten to break the bow until he started carrying around the StarkPhone.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least, Kate.”

“Okay- that’s enough making fun of me, I think. You two can shut up now,” Clint grumbles as he sets the drinks on the coffee table and sits down. “And I want my dog back.”

“I thought he wasn’t your dog,” Kate says and ohh, Clint hates Katie right now.

“Shut up. Come here, Pizza Dog, come on boy,” Clint calls to no avail. Lucky gives him a long look before resting on Phil’s lap again. It seems even the dog’s gone and betrayed him.Phil sneezes and Clint has a near panic attack until he remembers his dog allergies. It's going to be a long time before he doesn't have a knee jerk reaction every time Phil sneezes or coughs.

“So, we need to do something about the track suit ninjas,” Kate starts. “Because I don’t have the time or energy to beat the crap out of them every time I want to visit you, which by the way, what is the point of you having this apartment if you spend all your time at Avengers Tower? Are you selling or something?”

“What?No!” Clint exclaims. This is his home; it’s all crap, but it’s his crap. He’s made it work so far, and he’s keeping it.

“There’s a new episode of _Dog Cops_ in an hour,” Phil comments out of the blue.

“URGH. You two are made for each other, I’m going home.” Kate stands up and smacks Clint upside the head, then kisses Phil and Lucky. “And take care of your dog for a change, seriously.”

“I don’t know why I put up with this kind of crap from you,” Clint grumbles as she walks out.

They settle in on the couch using Lucky as a blanket and order in pizza. _Dog Cops_ is really awesome, even though Clint has missed the last three episodes.

***

They fall asleep on the couch and wake up to Lucky barking for breakfast, and it feels absolutely normal. Clint doesn’t know how he’s managed it. Phil’s making pancakes and he kisseshim on the neck just because he can. They make love again and they last longer this time, even though Clint’s a little angry at Lucky for coming up the stairs and totally ruining the mood. It’s okay though, because it makes Phil laugh, and Clint loves it when Phil laughs. They’re sitting up against the bed frame, Clint resting on Phil’s chest, when Clint has to go and ruin it by opening his damn mouth.

“God, I don’t know how I’ll cope if I ever lose you again,” he mumbles, and Phil goes rigid.

“Clint, I can’t control that. We’re only human.”

Clint sits up and faces Phil, “I know- I sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, it’s okay.”

“No.” Phil looks adamant. “This is one of those conversations we definitely need to have. It’s important to me that you’ll be all right if something happens to me.”

Clint chokes on air at the very thought. No. He won’t lose Phil again, he can’t do that again. He’s not that strong. It takes seeing the broken look on Phil’s face to realize the whole pathetic thought must be clear on his own.

“Clint, you’re the strongest person I know. I know our relationship is moving really fast, which- don't get me wrong, I am not complaining about. But I just... I think you need to talk to someone.”

“Nope. The only people who have clearance to talk to me work for SHIELD and that ain’t happening. I’m okay, all right?Phil, I am going to feel like this about you until kingdom come, that’s just the way it is.Don’t try and fix me; I know it’s not exactly normal, but we’re all a little fucked up, right?” Phil looks shaken, but Clint needs Phil to accept him. He can’t change himself. He knows he’s an asshole and a fuck up; he thought Phil knew that.

“I love you, Clint. I’ll say it again and again, but I can’t bear the thought of you going through what you did last time, and even if I gave up my SHIELD job, I’m not bulletproof.”

“I know, I know that. I’m not asking you to change who you are.” No matter how badly he wants to just lock Phil up in this safe house of an apartment and never let him out ever again. “I just. This is who I am, Phil. You can’t change it, and,” Clint swallows, “you should just leave now if you think otherwise. You’ll only be disappointed.”

He could live with that, right? As long as Phil was alive and happy? Maybe. Probably.

Phil leans in and presses his lips against Clint’s, soft and sure. When he pulls away, he says, “I am not giving you up. That is not an option. I can’t and I won’t hurt you like that again.I’m just worried about you. I want you to be able to live for yourself, be happy for yourself. Can you promise me that?”

Clint leans in closer in relief, resting his head against that sure heartbeat. Who's he kidding? He doesn’t know how he could ever give this up. 'Til kingdom come, that’s what his momma used to say to him and Barney. “I can’t. I don’t have that kind of strength, Phil.”

And Phil melts against him in defeat. “Can you at least promise me you’ll take care of yourself, then?”

“Why are we having this conversation, now?” Clint asks, pressing his tongue against a nipple and hoping to distract Phil. He thinks it’s worked when Phil gasps against him, hand coming up to entangle itself in his hair. But then he pulls him away, looking absolute wrecked.

“Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself if something happens to me.” He looks so broken, trembling and afraid and Clint can’t say no to this man, can't be responsible for that ugly expression on his face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try. It’s okay, Phil, I swear, I’ll try. It’s the best I can do.”

Phil stares at him for a long while, then sighs and leans, ghosting lips against his cheek. “I guess I’ll take it then.”

***

They head back to the Tower that same day. It’s been some time since a super villain decided to cause some damage and Clint’s superstitious enough to believe that it would definitely happen on the one day that they’re not in Manhattan. Phil thinks they should learn to handle themselves without Clint every once in a while, but Clint still has insecurities when it comes to the team and would rather not test his luck, even if he never says that out loud.

They drive back in Lola with Lucky, on his best behaviour for Phil, and enough dog food to last them a week. Lucky is one of those things in his life that Clint desperately wants to keep for himself (even if Lucky isn't really his), but he can’t just dump him on Kate every time he’s at the tower so it’s off to Avengers Tower for Pizza Dog. They make it to the Avengers common rooms without incident. Lucky loves Steve and surprises the crap out of Bobbi, which shouldn’t make Clint laugh, but it does. She shoots him an exasperated look and settles down in the corner to play with him. Jessica and Natasha are off at a Russian spa but Logan’s around, which is hilarious because Lucky might love Steve, but he’s absolutely enamoured with Logan. One way or the other, a bunch of the Avengers end up in the living room. Once Thor enters, though, Lucky sprints back to Phil’s lap on the couch, as if he knows exactly what Phil needs (or more likely, he’s terrified of the boisterous giant), and Clint ends up making dinner for the bastards. Well, Steve and Phil aren’t bastards, because Phil's perfect and Steve is helping him cook.

When Thor’s involved, Clint likes to stick with pasta and be done with it, because you can make kilos of it easily, so Steve is stuck on pasta duty while Clint makes pesto from the basil in their greenhouse. They work together rather well, having done this multiple times over the last few years.

As they’re cooking, they discuss their last covert mission. “I still think the Avengers can handle these missions without SHIELD’s help.”

“Cap, we run around in the brightest colours in the visible and maybe the invisible, spectrum. The Avengers aren't exactly made for undercover work."

“I don’t think it will be a problem. I mean, look at you and Nat.People rarely recognize you out of your costumes, let alone Jessica or Bobbi. Okay, Iron Man and Hulk, I understand. But you guys? You’re all spies, you have the training.Why pass a mission onto people we don’t trust when we can do the job ourselves?”

Steve is right, but there is still one thing bothering him. “We don’t have anyone to oversee ops like that. We’ve had Sitwell for Avengers missions, which is fine and all, but if we want to run these covert ops without SHIELD, we need someone like him. None of us are any good at that kind of work.”

“You don’t think JARVIS is capable?” Steve asks while pouring two kilos of pasta into the third bowl.

“I don’t know- it’s not about capability as much as experience, you know? Not that I don’t trust you, JARVIS babe.” Clint winks at the nearest security camera while adding garlic to the basil.

“Of course not, Master Barton,” JARVIS replies.

“So then what do you suggest? Leave them to SHIELD?”

“No.” Clint stops. “I don’t trust SHIELD. We find what, five or six situations that require covert ops every month, right? We can handle that, but we need to put together a separate team maybe?”

“I don’t want to divide the Avengers.We’re one team, Clint,” Steve says.

“I know. But no reason we can’t have a smaller team within the Avengers, specially trained for these events. We had Logan last time, and nothing against the guy, but he’s not exactly subtle.”

“Yeah, but you needed the brute force.”

“I’m not saying we didn’t. But we need someone quieter, like Agent Venom-"

"He's with the Guardians right now, didn't you get the last meeting minutes?" Oh. He might have forgotten about that.

"Besides," he continues quickly, hoping Steve doesn't notice, "shouldn't you be talking to Tony and everyone else?” Clint asks while adding the pesto to the pasta.

“You've worked in a specialized task force before," Steve explains.

"Strike Team Delta? You want a larger Strike Team Delta? Talk to Phil or Natasha, they were the brains. Well, Natasha's brains and brawn really, but I was just brawn."

Steve laughs out loud. "Yeah, I believe that." He leans forward to grab him by the shoulder. "Seriously, Clint. I value your opinion quite a lot, you know that. Do you truly think we should put together a smaller task force for covert ops? How do you think the team will react to that?"

Clint turns away to hide his blush, opening up a cupboard to pull out plates. "I think, as long as everyone knows it exists, and there are no secrets between team members, a task force would be better than randomly putting together whoever's around for ops like these."

"I'm with you there, Clint. No more secrets."

"Good, because between you and me? I have had enough secrets for two lifetimes, Cap." He winks before taking the plates and bowls to the dining room table and set up a self service buffet.

It’s Thursday, and that means movie night, so everyone grabs a plate of dinner and gets ready to watch whatever is on the long list of movies that Steve still hasn’t gotten through since waking up in the future. Tonight, it’s _Mission Impossible_.

Natasha and Jessica are back and have settled on the couch beside Phil. Clint’s not jealous, that’s not why he leans in to kiss Phil before handing him the plate and sitting down on the floor beside him. Lucky is wagging his tail on his head, but that’s okay. Barney always did say the point of family was to annoy the shit out of you. By the end of the fourth movie, Tony’s asleep and sprawled across Steve in the love seat to their left, Thor and Logan are concentrating on the film on their bean bags, and Bobbi is asleep on the rug beside Clint. Bruce is washing dishes with Natasha. Clint’s offered to help but after the glare he got from Nat, there is no way in hell he’s going back.

Clint’s tucked in between Phil’s feet and Lucky’s fast asleep. He’s about to nod off when Steve asks, “Hey Clint, this Jeremy Renner fella looks kind of like you, doesn’t he?”

“What? I don’t know, his hair’s darker.”

“And Clint’s cheekbones are more defined, but there is a resemblance,” Phil adds, and Clint can feel his face heating up.

“Hey, maybe we can get him to play me when we finally get an Avengers movie.”

“Yeah, because that’s going to happen,” Jess says from beside him.

"They tried to make a movie about the 60's when Chuck and Erik were still chummy, so you never know," Logan rumbles.

"What happened to it?"

"They realized those two'd been banging each other in hotel rooms across the country." Logan smirks.

"Oh my God." Jess says, sitting up as Clint bursts out laughing.

"I could've told them that and saved them quite a bit of money," Phil comments dryly. Everyone turns to look at him, jaws wide open and Phil just shrugs. "What?"

"Take it from a guy with experience, these real life superhero movies never turn out well."Steve winces, clearly lost in mortifying memories.

Clint knows an opening when he sees one.

“Who woke the giant that napped in America?” Clint half-whispers and half-sings.

“We know it’s no one but Captain America!” Thor hollers. Teaching him the song was a genius, genius idea. Clint grins as Steve hides his head under Tony, who jumps up at Thor.

“Who’ll finish what we began?” Clint shouts.

“Who’ll kick the krauts to Japan?”

“That's a derogatory phrase now,” Steve interjects.

“The Star Spangled Man with a plan!” Clint and Thor finish and get up to high five each other as Jess and Phil clutch their stomachs trying to hold the laughter in.

Bruce sticks his head out the kitchen door and just stares. “You people are all psychotic and I don’t know why I love any of you.”

Clint grins. “Because ohana.”

Steve laughs at that. “I get that reference! Because ohana means family!”

“And family means no one gets left behind!”

“Did you seriously steal one of the major themes of the Avengers Initiative from Lilo and Stitch? Agent Agent, what were you thinking?” Tony asks.

“What do you mean, what he was thinking?” Jessica asks in confusion.

“Well, the Avengers Initiative was Phil’s idea way back when, you know,” Bruce answers.

“Oh. Did not know that” Jess says. "You're cooler than I thought, Coulson."

Clint blows a raspberry at her and receives a smirk in return.

“Yeah, Phil’s an Avenger in my books,” Steve says, and Clint turns just in time to catch Phil turns bright red.

“Oh no, I’m just a regular guy,” he stammers. Clint is never going to stop loving this man; he can’t help it, he leaps to the couch, grabs Lucky and sticks him on Bobbi (and notes that he might be gaining weight, aren’t dog owners supposed to keep that under control? He needs to check this crap out), who, now awake, glares at him before petting Lucky. Clint turns around to grab Phil by his face. “There is nothing regular about you, Phillip Coulson,” he declares before stealing a breathtaking kiss from Phil. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, we have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean.” He winks at the rest.

The Avengers groan, and yes, that includes Phil but he still comes upstairs with a smile on his face, so it’s worth the cheesiness. Now if he could manage to keep Phil here forever and not just until he finds another job, everything would be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this took so long. I have excuses. In fact, I have all the excuses, but you're probably not interested. Next chapter should be up by Wednesday.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are many, many conversations, and Phil gets a job offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ereshai as always, you're an outstanding beta.

The Avengers ID starts beeping right as Clint finishes making dinner. That is not going to end well for whoever’s bothering them on stew night, because Thor loves stew and he looks positively murderous at having to get out of his seat in the kitchen. They all suit up and make it to the situation room, to discover that only Clint and Natasha are needed. Phil’s technically still on medical leave, but he’s bored out of his mind so Steve lets him join them on the Quinjet to Madripoor.

It feels like one of their old Strike Team Delta missions, Phil on the comms, Natasha on the ground and Clint up high. Steve is flying the Quinjet, and listening in for the most part because it might be two years and counting, but this is his team, and they know each other well. Andrew Forson has it coming and maybe Phil shouldn’t feel that surge of satisfaction as he watches the arrow fly right into his eyeball and explode. Tony Stark makes great arrows, they don’t leave any trace.

Clint packs up and finds Natasha, and they meet Phil and Steve at the extraction point. Steve looks pale, though it was his decision in the first place. Forson has been on the SHIELD hit list for months now, and Steve had made the decision to keep his location between the Avengers, so he really shouldn’t look like that if he can’t handle his decisions, Phil thinks.

Clint takes over piloting and they make it home within a few hours, and by then everyone is jet lagged. Debriefing takes a few minutes and soon, Clint and Phil find themselves in bed, Lucky crawling to settle on their feet.

“Felt like the good old days,” Clint mumbles into Phil’s chest, and Phil nods. It really did.

***

The next morning, Steve asks Phil to come up for a few minutes to his office near the situation room. They settle down with cups of coffee and then Steve gets right to the point.

“The last mission went much, much better than most of our covert missions, to be honest,” he says.

“With all due respect,” Phil starts. “Clint and Natasha have been working with me for a very long time; we’re used to working covert ops.”

“I know, I’ve seen the files; Strike Team Delta, right?” Steve smiles. “Look, let me get to the point. We - the Avengers - had our weekly meeting two days ago, and we agreed on one thing, which is a miracle in itself.” Phil remembers. It had been a couple days after their _Mission Impossible_ movie night; Phil had spent the day at SHIELD going through administrative work.

“We agreed on one thing,” Steve repeats. “And that was that we don’t trust SHIELD anymore.” This is nothing new. Phil remembers the way the meeting with the Avengers had gone when they’d discovered that Phil was alive. “The thing is, we get information sometimes that require covert ops, and so far, we’ve passed them onto SHIELD. On the other hand, the Avengers Initiative doesn’t run under SHIELD’s auspices even though we’re associated with them. I don’t really understand the bureaucracy behind it, Pepper is better at that,”

“I believe the Avengers are run like a charity, in the loosest of definitions,” Phil supplies.

Steve laughs, “Yeah, something like that. Anyway, we’ve decided that the Avengers will deal with these situations internally, using a smaller team within the Avengers that specializes in covert ops.”

“To handle things like the last operation in Madripoor.”

“Yes, exactly. Natasha and Clint are obviously on the roster, as well as Bobbi and Jessica. We need a handler.” Steve says.

Ah. Phil knows what's coming now. "I see."

“Well, Clint mentioned the other week that I just wasn’t made to handle covert ops, and he has a point.”

“Natasha said something about wearing a coat over the suit?” Phil smirks.

“What? No. That was one time!” Steve smiles sheepishly, hand resting on the back of his neck. “I’m really not made for overseeing projects from afar. But you are.”

He is. He didn't work with Strike teams for ten years because he was bad at it. But he'd also lied to the Avengers for two years about his death, working with them would not be an easy feat. "And you trust me?"

"Yes," Steve meets his eyes. "We've talked about this amongst the Avengers. Here's the thing, the lies have to stop. I understand that it was in the best interests of SHIELD to keep your death a secret, but it was _wrong,_ and we stand by that. We will not work with another SHIELD agent."

"Are you asking me to leave SHIELD for the Avengers, Captain Rogers?" Phil asks.

“Yes. SHIELD lied to you, but I know you worked with them for a long time. My question is, where do your loyalties lie? Do you plan to return to SHIELD? Because I‘m not looking for yet another SHIELD liaison; we’re done with that. If you work with us, you're an Avenger, you're one of our own. And you’d be paid more than whatever SHIELD pays you, by the way. Tony wanted you to know that,” Steve ends with grin.

Where did his loyalties lie? For years, Phil would have said SHIELD, that he would die for SHIELD. And he had. But now? Now he’s not so sure. SHIELD is something special, it stands for something good, something important- as humanity's protectors. It's why Phil had spent so much of his life working for them. SHIELD is still doing important work, but Phil's not sure that it stands for the same thing anymore. Especially after the last few months. He’s been contemplating quitting SHIELD for weeks now, and now he’s sure of it. He’s found his calling, and it’s right where his loyalties had always been. With Clint, and with the Avengers.

“I suppose I’ll be handing in my resignation to SHIELD then,” Phil answers.

He makes it back to the apartment to find Clint sitting on the couch’s armrest, arms crossed on his chest. He looks up at Phil with a question in his eyes and Phil nods with smile, making Clint throw a fist in the air. “I knew you’d take it! Now you’re officially an Avenger! HA!”

***

It takes him ten minutes to write up his resignation and less than a half hour to drive to the Hub to hand it in. It takes Nick thirty seconds to read the letter and pull out his hidden flask of whiskey.

Phil takes off his suit jacket, carefully hangs it up, and sits down. Nick Fury has been his friend for almost three decades; Phil knows their friendship has gone through quite a few ordeals, but probably none as great as this. He’s not sure they’ll recover that friendship of old, but only time will tell.

They share the flask between them for a silent few minutes until finally, Nick says, “We’ve been through some tough shit, you and I.”

“Literally, if I recall Mumbai correctly.”

“I always thought Zambia was worse.”

“Nick, I caught malaria in Zambia. Believe me, Mumbai was worse.”

“For you maybe, I was the one carrying your stupid ass for two days in Zambia,” Nick rumbles before taking another swig and passing the bottle back to Phil.

“I think we’re forgetting Yellowknife.”

“I think I remember an oath to never mention Yellowknife as long as we both lived.”

Phil opens his mouth to retort that he never had, when Nick says, “Jesus, Cheese, SHIELD needs you.” He never even gets the chance to down a little Jack Daniels because the Director grabs the flask right out his hand again. Phil sighs.

“Well, you should have thought of that before experimenting on me. Besides, Jasper’s good, and you need to learn to negotiate with Maria more.”

“Jeez, are you ever going to let that one go?” Nick shoots back. "Besides, haggling Maria is what I had you for."

“Not anymore.”

“I should have never let you talk me into that damn Initiative,” Nick grumbles.

“I think we both know that Stark would have set that thing up with or without us ever coming up with the idea.”

“You're probably right about that one.” Nick grumbles. "At least I don't have to deal with that one anymore. That's my deal, Cheese. I let you go, and you keep that troublemaker under control."

“I have my hands full. But I'll make sure to let the good Captain know."

Nick grimaces. “Has no one in this outfit ever even heard of frat regs? Get the fuck out of my office.”

Phil forces the smile down and stands up. Once he reaches the door, to his surprise, Nick says, “And don’t get yourself killed again, I ain’t got all that many friends left.”

“I’ll do my best.”

That’s all he can promise anyone really.

***

It’s been a week since he’s quit SHIELD. He’s back at the Hub, and it feels so awkward to be walking around with a visitor’s badge (clearance level 8, still, thank you Nick). His team – his former team - are in Situation Room 4. For once, they're quiet. FitzSimmons don’t look to be arguing, Ward and Melinda are laughing at something and Skye is asleep in Simmons lap. Phil takes a moment to just observe before entering through the glass doors. He’s done it, they’re a team now, and they’re fantastic without him. He’d read the last few reports from Melinda, and he’s honestly proud.

They all turn and stand up when Phil opens the door, Jemma poking at Skye to wake up. “Does this really need to happen? SHIELD without Agent Coulson?” Ward asks.

“Well, it was bound to happen one day, you’ve been here what, 20 years now?” Melinda asks, as if she doesn’t know exactly how long he’s worked here. He shuts the door behind him and sits down on one of the chairs; the others follow.

“Something like that,” Phil replies. “I saw the reports, you’re doing very well. AD Hill sent me a message telling me how impressed she was.”

“Really? I thought she hated us. She yelled at me for a really long time the other day,” Skye shrugs.

“Oh, that’s how you know she loves you,” Fitz tells her. “That’s what Mr. Stark told me the other day at Avengers Tower.” Oh God, Fitz’s hero worship of Tony Stark seems to have absolutely no bounds.

“Please don’t believe everything that man says, I promise you, it won’t end well,” Phil tells them. Fitz blushes and Simmons rolls her eyes in frustration. And damn it, he’s going to miss the science babies.

“Listen,” Phil starts, trying to get to his point. “I put together this team because I knew you’d be extraordinary, and you surpassed all expectations. Every single one of you is a valuable asset to SHIELD and to world security, and I am incredibly proud of the work this team does.” Phil reaches into his pocket and pulls out the SHIELD business cards he’s had for so many years, scribbling his new Avengers-issue work phone on five of them. “If you need anything, any of you, feel more than free to give me a call. I’m always available for the Bus team,”

“Oh! Why is this so bloody sad!” Jemma exclaims, voice shaky. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other. Mr. Stark told us his labs are always open for us, and the Avengers are still going to have contact with SHIELD even if they’re not part of the same organization anymore!”

Everyone laughs, but the moment is cut short by a call from Agent Blake on the screens beside then. “Hey Coulson, you’re too good for us now that the Avengers want you? Damn it, man, that kind of hurts,” he says with a grin. “First Barton, then Romanoff, and now you. Soon I’ll be the last badass SHIELD agent there is.”

“I’d say good luck with that, but I don’t want to give you false hope,” Phil smiles back at his old friend.

“Whatever floats your boat, Coulson. Now go away, I need May’s team and you don’t have clearance anymore.”

May’s team. Phil stands up at that. He’s done his job well, they don’t need him anymore and it makes him happy, if sad to go. They all say their goodbyes and he leaves the room. Taking his phone out, he calls Skye quickly as he walks away. Debrief or not, there’s no way she won’t pick up.

“Hello?”

“I just want you to know that I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’m still going to help you find out what happened to your family, Skye.”

It’s quiet, and Phil thinks that maybe she’s hung up, when she says quietly, “It’s not such a priority anymore, A.C. I have a family now.”

After they hang up, Phil takes his time walking to the front desk, passing through every hallway and situation room, every break room, and floor and balcony. Yes, he’s sentimental, but he helped build this place, and it was home. These are the rooms where he met Maria, Jasper, and Jimmy. Break room 413, where he had spent a Christmas with Clint and Natasha watching _Die Hard_ and eating really bad pizza.

Before he knows it, he’s back on the Bus, in his office. It’s empty; they packed everything up yesterday. Instead of Captain America memorabilia, there’s a _Kill Bill_ poster and the entire William Wordsworth collection. It’s Melinda’s Bus now. It’s okay, she’ll take care of her.

Phil walks out to the hangar after one last look around, trying to clear his head. Clint’s waiting for him, leaning against the wall, clad in a leather jacket and dark t-shirt. He has a wistful smile on his face, and Phil wants to steal that smile with a kiss. Thankfully, he’s allowed to do more than just want these days.

“Ready to go?” Clint asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the epilogue should be up soon. I'm still working with limited internet, so it's just taking a lot of time right now.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to ereshai and Max 72 for all the help in getting this done. And thank you to all my lovely readers, I appreciate the encouragement and all the comments, you people are the reason I write!

It’s the fourth of May, 2015. The remembrance service for those lost three years ago is in full swing. Captain America is about to give his speech. Apparently, he does that every year. Clint didn’t know that, but then, it’s Clint’s first time here. He’s sitting with the rest of the Avengers around a very big table, Natasha to his left and Phil to his right.

She’s tipsy, which is dangerous considering the knives hidden under her dress, and so is Phil, which is probably just as dangerous, but it’s also the most adorable thing Clint’s ever seen. Phil does not appear in public very often, and when he does, he’s careful with Clint. It’s not that they’re hiding anything, but they already have to share so much with the world. This belongs to Clint and Phil alone, and to the precious few who get to see them in the home they share. Usually Phil is only affectionate at the Tower, or around Kate. But when he’s tipsy like this, he likes to wrap an arm around Clint and tap secrets onto his waist.

Clint’s had nothing but orange juice all evening. Bobbi keeps smiling at him, so that’s got to be a good thing, but Clint’s only got a dumb reason not to drink. Phil is right beside him and he’s beautiful and there’s finally some colour on his face and Clint is too scared he’ll miss something to take even a sip of wine.

It’s May the fourth and Clint can’t hear a word Steve is saying because he’s too busy looking transfixed at Phil, who’s religiously taking in Steve’s every word. It’s May the fourth and Clint’s never going to admit it out loud, but he’s a little scared that Phil is going to fade away in between the blinking of his eyes.

Later, Clint is going to drag Phil upstairs to their apartment and make love to him. Phil will sleep the whole night for the first time, and Clint will keep watch because he’s still not sure. But that’s okay, these things take time.

Clint will keep watch until their Secret Avenger ID beeps, and then he’ll kiss Phil awake. Phil will complain about his headache and Clint will mock him, because Clint’s a jackass like that. Then they’ll walk together to the Quincarrier, coffee in hand and Lucky afoot, a single goal in mind: run the mission, don’t get seen, and save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me till the end! Yes, the plan was all along to bring about the Secret Avengers:)


End file.
